Flirt
by xErised
Summary: Draco finally decides to give Harry a set of rules and two months, nothing more and nothing less, to court him. But Harry had never expected it to be such a challenge... Post-Hogwarts. Complete. HP/DM
1. Lying Latent

**Flirt by xErised**

**Lying Latent**

**

* * *

**

It was his scent that did him in.

It was impossible to put it into words; exactly like how it was impossible to describe the color red to a blind man. The aroma was a potent cocktail of the freshest flowers and the most seductive chocolate. It was surprisingly subtle, easy to lose track of as it vied fruitlessly with the other cloying perfumes and woody colognes that permeated the air of the vast ballroom.

But once Harry had caught a whiff of that hormone-rousing fragrance, he couldn't get it out of his mind.

The hall was charmingly decorated in complimentary shades of pale gold, coupled with matching streaks of silver and white. The polished French windows were flung open invitingly, welcoming a warm night breeze into the room. Thick, luxurious curtains were appropriately pulled to one side, illuminating the full moon, accompanied by the twinkling stars that sparkled like precious jewels. White, heavy chandeliers dangled from the high ceiling and tossed flattering crystals of light onto the people that occupied the room.

An orchestra was performing a calming serenade, and Harry could hear the endless jangle of expensive diamond bracelets donned ostentatiously by the ladies. Dignitaries from all over the wizarding world were milling and chatting, the low hum of conversation peppered with the foreign sounds created by different accents.

Gleaming baskets held crunchy breadsticks prepared to a crisp golden, and every sort of meat was available and cooked to perfection. Fresh green vegetables, too beautiful to be eaten, were meticulously carved into the shape of small animals. Little tubs of tiramisu, drizzled generously with liquor, were paired with rich chocolate truffles for dessert. Most of the guests were queuing up patiently at the buffet table.

And of course, it was no surprise that Ron Weasley was at the head of the queue, an expression of pure delight on his face as he assaulted the buffet table voraciously.

"Brilliant dress, by the way," Harry praised, flashing a lopsided grin at Hermione. She was clad elegantly in a figure-hugging, mermaid style aquamarine dress that illustrated her slim figure. The witch patted her hair self-consciously and returned Harry's smile.

"Can you smell that? No, not the food, but this… gorgeous, unique smell…" Harry queried, his mind snapping back to the matter at hand. When Hermione shook her head, Harry took Hermione by the hand and together, the pair threaded their way towards the general direction of the scent.

"Oh! Something like… flowers?" Hermione piped up eventually, her face brightening. Harry nodded vigorously, his eager green eyes cruising the scene in front of him to try and pinpoint the exact origin of the fragrance.

And then he felt his heart skip a beat.

Draco Malfoy stood tall and elegant, devastatingly business-like in a sharp blue suit. Knotted impeccably around his collar was a molten gold tie. The light cascading from the chandelier increased his attractiveness by ten-fold, and Harry remained stock-still for a moment, admiring the way the shadows played coquettishly on the blond's face.

A glass of champagne was nestled comfortably in Draco's right hand, and his left hand was tucked casually into the pocket of his tailor-made designer pants. There was an arresting quality about him that even the most indifferent onlooker would feel drawn to, and as Harry's eyes took a lazy tour of Draco's body, he couldn't help but feel a mounting sense of excitement.

Another older blond was beside Draco, and Harry noticed Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, in his peripheral vision. The other blond was dressed in the casual elegance of wealth, but the brunette only gave those two men a fleeting glance before replacing his attention fully back onto Draco again.

"Hey, what're the both of you doing there?!"

Jerking out of his little bubble of lust, Harry turned around. Ron had already settled down on a nearby table, looking very satisfied with his bounty from the buffet table. A small avalanche of food was piled precariously high on Ron's plate. There were mounds of colorful coleslaw, slathered liberally with creamy sauce, succulent pieces of grilled lamb and pork, huge baked potatoes drenched with landslides of melted butter and a teetering tower of little frosted cupcakes.

Upon seeing the amount of food on Ron's plate, Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance. Wordlessly, Harry hurried towards the buffet table, procured two sets of cutlery and two plates and scurried back. As if they had an unspoken agreement, Harry and Hermione calmly divided Ron's food into three parts and briskly transferred each bit onto their own plates.

"Why do you two always have to do this all the time?" The redhead said petulantly and looked down sadly at his diminished portion.

"That's because you need to have some semblance of decorum at events like this, Ron! There're important people around here that you might be working with in the future, and it's not a good idea if they see you stuffing your face like this! You _are_ working for the Ministry, after all," Hermione pointed out in her usual matter-of-fact tone as she shook her hair free and clipped it back with a red ribbon.

There was a moment of silence as the trio of 27-year-olds basked in the regal atmosphere of the hotel ballroom. Harry's eyes were still straying distractedly towards Draco, though, his senses in freefall because of Draco's addictive aroma that had become more concentrated due to their short proximity away from the blond.

"Harry? Harry! I asked you a question!" Ron said, nudging his friend.

"Sorry, my mind was on… other things," Harry mumbled, reluctantly tearing his gaze from the blond. Hermione tilted her head quizzically and beamed playfully at Ron.

"Do you detect anything… special in the air, Ron?" She asked and raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Harry.

Obligingly, Ron scrunched up his nose and sniffed the air warily. Gradually, Ron's face melted into a gooey smile, his mouth forming an 'O' of sheer happiness. His eyes fluttered closed and he breathed deeply, inhaling batch-fuls of air before sighing blissfully.

"Bloody _hell_, that smells absolutely divine. That's something remarkable, I can tell you. If I could smell _nothing _but that for the rest of my life, I'll die a happy man," Ron practically moaned.

Harry and Hermione shared an alarmed look. "Ron, you're actually… erm… smelling Malfoy," Hermione said, wincing. The redhead's eyes immediately snapped open, a sliver of distaste swiftly replaced by a flash of confusion.

"Malfoy?! Weren't we talking about _roast chicken_?" Ron squawked and gestured heatedly towards the buffet table. "Anyway, Malfoy's here?" Ron queried, craning his head.

"Don't look, Ron! He's staring right at us!" Harry squeaked and immediately ducked his head, fire gathering rapidly in his cheeks. Sure enough, Draco fixed the ex-Gryffindors with an amused glance, before insinuating back into the conversation carrying out between Kingsley and the other man.

"Sorry, mate," Ron grinned and forked some more potato into his mouth.

"Do you remember during our final year how we would give the boys in Hogwarts marks upon ten on their bums, Harry?" Hermione said, laughing.

"Yeah! Justin got a seven, Seamus an eight, and Malfoy a… nine point five," Harry gulped as he stuck a finger in his collar to loosen it slightly. "Although I definitely think he deserves a perfect ten now," the brunette whispered as an afterthought, his eyes licking Draco's arse and legs hungrily.

"You just broke up with Joshua, Harry. Isn't it a bit too early to be checking out other men, least of all Malfoy?"

"It's been six months since we broke up, Ron," Harry reminded while he toyed blankly with the smooth, waxy leaves of the decorative orchid on their table.

Ron shrugged his shoulders dismissively, but immediately picked up the conversational thread again. "What score did _my _butt get?" he asked, puffing himself up importantly and sticking his own arse out proudly.

"You got a… nine," Hermione revealed and dissolved into a bout of giggles when she saw Ron's affronted expression.

"You preferred _Malfoy's_ to mine?! What's _wrong_ with my bum?!" Ron yelped, turning around and regarding his arse with looming dismay. "It's not... _saggy_ or anything, right?!"

"It's a very good specimen, honey," Hermione placated soothingly, placing a hand on her husband's arm and stroking it. Ron sniffed haughtily, but he was mollified. Harry chortled at the camaraderie between husband and wife. However, he immediately sobered up and quickly took a sip of his beverage, partly to cool his blushes with champagne and partly to cover his face with the champagne flute when he caught Kingsley and the two blonds looking towards his table.

Kingsley's face split into a sunny beam and he beckoned Harry over. Flattening his shock of black hair with his palm, Harry pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose and tried to saunter as sophisticatedly as he could, but to his horror, he ended up tripping unglamorously over the too-long train of a woman's dress.

His face flooded with color, Harry finally reached the three men and smiled courteously at Kingsley and the other blond, trying as hard as he could to avoid Draco's eye.

"May I introduce Harry Potter, head of our Unspeakables Department?" Kingsley started in his smooth, baritone voice. "I'm sure you would not require an introduction for Mr. Malfoy, seeing that the both of you were at school together." In reply, Draco inclined his head coolly and drank a mouthful of champagne, enjoying the bubbly tickles at the back of his throat. Harry felt calculating grey eyes surveying him over the rim of Draco's glass, and the brunette fidgeted slightly. A cloud of intoxication was wafting from Draco, mingling with the oxygen in the air, diffusing in Harry's blood and suffusing his brain, and Harry had to slacken his tie further.

Meanwhile, the older man beside Draco raked Harry up and down with a scouring gaze, before giving Harry a thin, perfunctory smirk that bordered on a sneer. Harry retaliated by giving him a wintry smile in return. The man frowned slightly and touched Draco's fingers in a supposedly intimate way. A shimmer of uneasiness flickered in Draco's eyes and he inched away imperceptibly.

Harry's shrewd eyes caught and registered every movement.

"Harry, you probably have not officially met this man yet," Kingsley implied the other blond. "He is the well-known owner of this chain of hotels, and he is the one behind today's very fabulously arranged event, with Mr. Malfoy's invaluable assistance, of course. This is- excuse me-" Kingsley frowned disapprovingly at his secretary, who had just popped out from nowhere and tapped Kingsley on the shoulder timidly.

"I'm really sorry for interrupting, Mr. Shacklebolt, but Signor Romano, head of the Hit Wizard division from Italy, is leaving now and has requested to meet Mr. Labelle and you, sir, to thank you personally for hosting today's magnificent occasion."

"In that case… Shall we?" Kingsley smiled formally and escorted the other blond away, the heels of their fancy shoes clicking on the black and white checkerboard marble floor. Within seconds, the pair had melted easily into the throng of people.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair so that it stood up in choppy peaks. He could feel the sensual tug of pulsing pheromones in the atmosphere, and he was just about to open his mouth to exchange pleasantries before Draco cut him off efficiently.

"Do excuse me, Potter, but I've got to… _circulate_," Draco drawled silkily, indicating the crowds with a long, pale finger. The blond dazzled him with one last supercilious grin before slinking away.

It took a few seconds for Harry to realize that he had Just Been Snubbed.

* * *

That was what had happened a month ago.

Harry had tried to put it behind him, but he couldn't stop turning that split-second first encounter over and over in his mind, like a Muggle film helplessly stuck on rewind. Harry felt himself desperately wanting to re-do that evening all over again, longing for the last minute witty comeback to show Draco that he was no longer the hopelessly awkward boy that he once was. He had found Draco's ruthless superiority impenetrable yet seductive, a quality that managed to infuriate and thrill Harry at the same time. The blond still maintained that consummate air of irrefutable arrogance, that sheer, undiluted pride that Harry had fallen prey to all those years back when they were still at Hogwarts.

And that… scent had already mutated into something so much more, into a penetrating bouquet that seemed to be the most complex scent ever, sweeter than even the most prized elixir. It was driving him demented, taking up permanent residence in his head no matter how much he valiantly tried to push it out. It was absolutely exquisite, and Harry marveled at how it was able to leave a haunting after-effect in his brain.

Every time whenever Harry passed by a florist or a bakery, he would catch the glorious, teasing essence of exotic flowers and the characteristic dark and sweet tang of chocolate. His mind would immediately, as fast as lightning, whip back to the memory of Draco at that fateful night. Hermione had said that she wasn't surprised that Harry had the potential to feel so strongly about it, since "our sense of smell is actually able to trigger a profound effect on our brain with the involvement of pheromones, including sex pheromones," and her assurance that it would probably wear off soon.

Harry couldn't help but feel a zingy shiver of anticipation dart down his spine at the _sex_ bit.

Ron, however, had just snorted good-naturedly and went, "You've gone bonkers, Harry."

But then Harry had succumbed to the inevitable. It was something that he had thought about tirelessly, but could never summon enough boldness to do it. And then when he'd gone and _done_ it, it was like waking up from a fuzzy dream that was blurred at the edges, the dubiousness and fogginess, the uncertainty of whether it had really happened. He had urgently riffled through the reams of parchment on his table, and when he had discovered that one sheet was indeed unaccounted for, he realized, to his horror, that no, it hadn't been a dream.

Ron liked to dub it glibly as "Something That Should Never Be Done Again Under Any Circumstances Whatsoever".

Harry had written a letter to Draco.

Oh no, that wasn't the worst part.

He had actually _sent_ it.

Harry hadn't really been expecting a reply, really, but he couldn't help but feel his heart do a little wiggle when he had actually gotten a letter back from Draco. While Harry's fingers fell over each other to undo the string on the envelope, Harry's thoughts had ricocheted in a different million directions. Could it be that Draco had felt the same way too? Could it be that he had felt his own heart beat faster, felt his own breath being stolen away, felt the urge to kiss Harry's perfect and plump ruby-red lips? Could it be that Draco had wanted to tear his own clothes off and fall oh-so-gracefully into Harry's muscled, strong arms and let Harry whisk him away to a life full of sweet romance?!

Sadly, it was nothing like that. There were no words dripping of sly and forbidden passion and feelings, nor were there any gasps of clichéd delight at Harry's brave stab at correspondence. His reply had been as clinical and antiseptic as the snap of surgical gloves against wrists. It stated a date and time, and a neatly printed address of Draco's office.

The bloody letter wasn't even _handwritten_, for God's sake.

So that was what Harry was fretting over right now, trying to tame his mess of black locks minutes before he was due at Draco's office. Puffing an overgrown tuft of curls away from his eyes, the brunette yanked the miserable comb out of his hair and tossed it aside. Hermione was plumping his tie up, and Harry gasped when she hitched it up too high.

"Sorry!" Hermione cringed and quickly released it. She paused, breathed out noisily through her nose, sighed in defeat, looped the tie over Harry's head and lobbed it away.

"You were never a tie person, Harry," Hermione declared.

"Thank you!" Harry quipped, working his thankfully free collar loose with his fingers. The brunette hated wearing formal wear; he found it too constricting and uncomfortable. Given his choice, he would probably turn up at Draco's office dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but Hermione had shot that suggestion down, stating pragmatically that Harry had to dress for the occasion.

Harry gave Hermione his trademark crooked grin and walked towards the Floo at Ron and Hermione's house.

"Uh-uh, Harry. Ron hasn't cleaned the Floo, and I doubt you want to turn up there all sooty and dusty like just now. Go by the Muggle way." With that, Hermione grabbed Harry by the shoulders and steered him towards the door.

* * *

The place reeked of money.

Harry twitched a bit nervously as he sat on the rather hard couch in the waiting room. A row of cushions, arranged stiffly in descending size, was positioned formally behind the brunette. The smaller cushions were placed on their tips like diamonds against the bigger ones, and Harry shifted his bum out further, slightly afraid to disturb the meticulousness of it all. He had never felt comfortable in formal environments. Draco's office was located at the second highest level of the building, and it seemed to house no one else other than Draco and his secretary.

Wriggling his toes in his shoes, Harry looked around the area. The décor was modern and austere, yet welcoming. Business magazines that looked brand-new were sprawled on a coffee table that looked equally new, without a coffee ring or scratch on it. Harry nonchalantly flipped through a few magazines, but couldn't make heads or tails of it.

He was sure that Draco was carrying out some sort of power play, simply because another businessman had exited Draco's room when Harry was there, so Draco was obviously alone in his office.

But he had still kept Harry waiting for the past ten minutes.

Sighing, he chucked the magazine back noisily, earning a glare from Millicent Bulstrode, who had turned out to be Draco's secretary.

The ex-Gryffindor had expressed extreme shock when he had realized that this rather pretty woman turned out to be Bulstrode, who he had once called a 'hag'. It was amazing what a proper, chic hairstyle, together with a fashionable taste in fitting clothes could do. Her shiny black hair was coiffed in a sophisticated chignon and held in place with a dainty ruby flower. She had lost weight, and her lime-green sleeveless sheathe dress highlighted her much-improved figure. She had regarded Harry with mild curiosity and apprehension when he had appeared, but she was aware that Harry did have an appointment with Draco that wasn't arranged through her.

A rather bored Harry got up and wandered around, his eye caught by the dozen or so abstract paintings that studded the cold, icy-blue walls. There was one painting with only splodges of color haphazardly slung onto it. Harry shifted his attention to another one, and he was trying to figure out whether the person portrayed was a man or a woman when Millicent called out his name.

"Draco will see you now, Potter."

Walking towards the door, Harry wiped his palms on the thighs of his pants, turned the knob firmly and stepped over the threshold.

There were two heavy, mahogany bookcases filled to the brim with thick, leather-bound tomes. Harry could see no personal photographs, unlike his own cubicle in his department, where there were sunny pictures of Ron and Hermione, together with their kids and the whole Weasley family. A clean Floo network was positioned conveniently in the room, and was obviously used a great deal by Draco due to the substantial pots of Floo powder near the fireplace. Two owls perched quietly in separate cages and looked inquisitively at Harry. Their role was clearly to make it a lot easier for Draco to receive and send mail.

Draco's desk was a long slab of polished wood, and a mug of hot tea was cooling on it. There were no Muggle appliances anywhere at all, no computers, no laptops and no phones. Instead, there were stacks of parchment, unopened letters and a handful of quills neatly arranged at one side of the table. But there was something strangely curious. A small bottle of honey, together with a small gleaming spoon sat on the corner of Draco's table, but before Harry could take a better look at it, Draco had swiftly grabbed it and dropped it in a drawer.

The blond was a model of self-assurance, his veneer of cool reserve giving nothing away as Harry moved closer towards him. Harry drew deep breaths of air into his lungs to clear his slightly woozy head, but immediately regretted it when Draco's heavenly scent assaulted his senses and he ended up going a bit light-headed.

Draco was sitting behind his desk, his elbows planted on the edge of the table. His wrists were bony, his arms a bit too thin for Harry's liking. The ex-Slytherin interlinked his fingers together and fixed Harry with a thoughtful gaze.

"So, to cut to the chase, is it correct for me to say that you fancy me?"

…

_What?! No 'how are you's or even a friendly, normal 'good evening'? Bloody hell, he didn't even offer me a seat!_ Harry huffed indignantly. There were two chairs right in front of Draco, but they were loaded with cumbersome files. It didn't make any sense when the rest of Draco's office was so immaculate. Harry suspected that Draco had done it on purpose.

_But no matter_, Harry thought as he grinned to himself, a cord of steel running up his spine. Lifting up one stack of files and plonking it unceremoniously on Draco's table, Harry smiled innocently at Draco and helped himself to a chair. He was rewarded by a surprised look from Draco. The blond blinked and squared the heap of files in front of him with military precision, making sure that the corners met at ninety degree angles and that the sides of the files were perfectly parallel to the table edge.

"Maybe I fancy you just a teeny weeny bit," Harry replied, bringing up his hand and lifting his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

"Oh, really? I reckon it's more than that," Draco said slyly and slowly unfolded a certain letter that made Harry blush bright red. The ex-Slytherin cleared his throat and scanned the letter, the sides of his mouth quirking up into an amused smirk."Shall I jog your memory? About how you think that I'm the 'hottest, sexiest man in the whole_ friggin'_ universe'?"

At this point, Harry mustered up a watery smile, inwardly cursing his lack of control and his penchant for inappropriately sexy thoughts.

"Or that I have a… _brilliant_ bum that is _totally_ worth a rating of ten out of ten," Draco recited dryly.

"I'll give you an eleven if you'll let me grab it," Harry blurted out without thinking, and ended up clamping a hand to his mouth.

Think _witty_, Harry, not _pervert._

Draco's eyebrows climbed his forehead, but he instantly recovered his equilibrium. "Thank you for the kind offer, Potter, but I'm not interested."

_Ouch._

"Here's what I propose. I'll give you exactly two months to date me. Pull out all the stops, captivate me, and make me fall in love with you, if _that's_ even possible. If I end up liking what I see, then I'll allow this to go further. There will also be rules. If you break any of them, then it's game over," Draco explained, his tone as crisp as iceberg lettuce, his lips twisted in merriment and challenge. Grey eyes sparkled as brightly as the diamonds on Draco's watch as he pushed a piece of parchment towards Harry across the table.

Harry licked his lips and read the note. The blond ran a finger down the feather on his quill and said out loud the rules that he already knew by heart.

"I will see you once a week for the next two months. And _only_ once a week. The maximum time taken for each date will be three hours. There will be no physical intimacy at all. You are not allowed to Apparate into my own home, and if you wish to see me in my office, you will have to book an appointment with Millicent. After every date I will give you a score to let you know how you have fared. Once any of the above rules are broken, the two months will immediately be discounted and you would have failed."

"So... the next two months are some sort of trial period before you're willing to be my boyfriend?" Harry clarified, his mind tip-toeing through the plethora of possibilities that Draco's arrangement seemed to carry.

Draco didn't give him a straight answer, but merely flashed Harry a rallying smile and said smoothly, "You have eight dates with me. Use them well. I'll see you next week." With that, Draco busily sliced open an unopened letter with a silver letter-opener, and Harry knew that he was being dismissed.

Stumbling out as though he was in a daze, Harry tried to spot any subtle signs of emotion in Draco's demeanor, but turned up empty. The other man was as distant and dignified as a bank manager, and Harry itched to crack that stern exterior.

The brunette had a feeling that Draco had handed him a contract and made him sign over the dotted line.

But his dormant, competitive streak was suddenly and unexpected piqued, and Harry felt a delicious flicker of ambitious zeal. And as the corner of his lips pulled upwards into a smile of a naughty cherub, Harry realised that even though the blond had been his own frigid self in that clear-cut exchange, Harry was perfectly sure of one thing:

He was going to _blow_ Draco Malfoy's mind.

**

Draco waited until the door clicked firmly behind Harry, waited until he heard Harry thank Millicent quietly and the brunette's footsteps fading away with distance before he let his carefully schooled expression chink and slip away.

He had searched Harry's physique for any imperfection, but was flummoxed when he failed to find any. Harry's clothes flirtatiously concealed a fit body, complete with mouth-watering broad shoulders. Playful, distinguishing clusters of black hair flopped and curled insolently all over the place, cheekily dangling over his eyes, and Draco had to suppress the urge to smooth Harry's hair back and neaten it up. His skin had the soft glow of a tan, doubtlessly caused by the rigorous training from his job. His chiseled jaw glinted with stubble, demonstrating the sheer testosterone emanating from Harry, sending Draco's hormones in a disturbed flurry. The crisp white shirt that Harry had worn complimented his jade eyes wonderfully, and Draco had caught an alluring peek of taut chest. Draco sighed as he picked up his quill, the nib hovering over the parchment.

His rediscovered peace of mind was in disorder again, after he had just gotten over _him_-

The brunette had looked more confident and sure of himself compared to the last time he had met him, and Draco felt a bubble of interest blooming within him. The tiniest pinpricks of lust and intrigue were stirring in his system and Draco stifled a smile. The blond doodled aimlessly, allowing his mind to wander, roam and day-dream, something that he hadn't done for so long. A small, eager part of him was wondering what sort of slow, tempting magical seduction the other man would cook up.

_Let's see what you can do, Potter._

* * *

**/tbc**

Things to note:

1) Harry and Draco's jobs are crucial to the plotline.

2) Why Millicent and not Pansy? Shall I just say that Pansy has been reserved for a more… special role?

3) I'll do my best to have two new chapters up every month. All updates will be on Friday. Additionally, this fic will **not** be discontinued under any circumstances.

4)_ Flirt_ is planned out to have around 12 chapters, but it's not set in stone. My chapters will be longer than other fics as I have a lot of material to squeeze in every chapter, especially three-quarters into the story, when everything gets really interesting. I hope the length won't scare anyone away. D:

5) 100% of my energy will be focused on this; in other words, I will not upload any other piece until _Flirt_ is completed.

Lastly, if you've read it and liked it, it would be nice if you dropped a review. /grin


	2. Mona Lisa Smile

**Flirt by xErised**

**Mona Lisa Smile**

* * *

First dates are absolutely nasty, yet beautifully delicate things.

It didn't matter how confident you made yourself out to be, it didn't matter how flawlessly you would've arranged the evening because there would always be this niggling disbelief, this irritating uncertainty that someone or something would throw a spanner in the works and mess everything up. And then on top of all of that, you had to worry about whether your date would actually enjoy what you've planned. Would he deem the whole event completely boring and unworthy of his precious time? Would he simply stalk out halfway and leave you sitting there, all horrified and humiliated and scarred for life?

A first date would always consist of trips to the bathroom every five minutes to check whether you've got anything unsavory stuck between your teeth, walking on eggshells by double-checking every single thing that you were about to say to make sure that it was a) politically correct, b) not offensive in any way, and in Harry's case-

c) nothing that would point towards him being a horny sex maniac.

Yes, that included no mention at all of Draco's legs or lips or skin or that _bloody _delectable arse that he was _so_ sure would fit oh-so-_perfectly_ in his hands-

…

A_hem_.

Harry knew that one wrong maneuver, however small, would put a horribly sour note on things, so he was determined to put his best foot forward. Initially he had been surprised to learn that Draco was no longer living in the Malfoy Manor, but instead in a rather simple apartment which was not too different from Harry's own home.

The brunette stood on Draco's doorstep, rocking up and down on the balls of his feet. Barbs of anxiety and doubt were zooming and crackling everywhere in his body, all the way down to the very ends of his extremities. His stomach was overflowing with bubbly, hyperventilating butterflies that simply refused to settle. All in all, Harry felt himself being reduced bit by bit to a jittery glob of jelly with every excruciating second that he had to wait for Draco.

The door finally opened, and every neuron in Harry's body seemed to immediately stand on attention.

Draco was exactly like how Harry pictured him to be; not a single strand of hair out of place, a carefully honed expression on his face which betrayed no semblance of excitement, curiosity or desire. He was clad immaculately in a black collared shirt and black pants, together with shining black shoes, and of course, that sweet, provocative scent that swamped Harry's mind and sent his system in a complete tizzy. Draco was wearing a simple silver star-shaped earring in his right earlobe.

All of a sudden, Harry's knees felt rather weak.

The blond blinked in astonishment when he opened the door and came face to face with an enormous bouquet of creamy white and raspberry-red roses, held together by a fancy French ribbon. The fragrance of exotic blooms invaded his nostrils, and his eyes widened slightly.

"I didn't realize you were going to have a bunch of flowers for a face tonight, Potter. If I knew, I would have thought twice about the arrangement," Draco drawled, ignoring the tense yet pleasant flutter in the pit of his own stomach. Harry lowered the flowers fractionally, revealing shy, bespectacled emerald eyes peering out from beneath a messy tousle of black hair.

"I'll just go and put them in the water then," Draco said, taking the flowers and turning. Harry craned his head out of innate curiosity, his eyes swiveling towards the direction of Draco's flat. However, Draco caught Harry peeking, and he quickly nudged the door close with his hip.

"You look really nice today," Harry flashed the other man a crooked grin when Draco emerged. In reply, the ex-Slytherin bestowed a reserved half-smile on Harry.

"I assume we're going somewhere... presentable?" Draco asked, gesturing to Harry's attire in an amused manner. His tie was too long for him and knotted catastrophically, the color of his belt clashed horribly with his outfit, and Harry's jacket was too tight for those maddeningly, impossibly irresistible shoulders-

Draco quickly gulped and averted his gaze, folding his arms across his chest protectively as they walked out into the cool night air.

Beside him, Harry puffed himself out appreciatively. It had been a tedious and arduous task, but he had managed to wangle a reservation for the hottest new restaurant from Fleur, who had a job as a highly acclaimed food critic in London. Sure, the food came with exorbitant prices that Harry wasn't sure he could afford in the long run, but for tonight, the both of them would wine and dine like a pair of rich princes, indulging in expensive champagne and fancy dishes that had names Harry didn't even know how to pronounce, and then Draco would be duly impressed by Harry's debonair personality and his charming good looks and his ability to hold an unbelievably intellectual conversation about stocks and money and property and it would be no time, no time at all before Draco would fall madly, deeply in love with him-

"Potter? Are you alright? You seem to be drooling a bit," Draco pointed out, breaking sharply into Harry's shameless fantasies.

Summoning up a surge of self-confidence, Harry took a deep breath and announced, injecting a suitable amount of pride in his voice, "We're going to Zizi's for dinner."

Sadly, this monumental announcement didn't have the effect that Harry hankered for. Draco raised his eyebrows in mild bewilderment, before stating simply, "The food's alright, I guess. There's nothing remarkable about it, though."

The color drained out of Harry's face and he stopped walking altogether. He stared desolately at Draco, words of protest forming on his lips.

"B-But it just opened! And it's supposed to have really good food!"

"I've been there three times," Draco started as he began counting it off on his fingers. "The first time was when I had to attend one of their taste testing events since the hotel was hosting a dinner party and they were catering, the second time was when they held a preview dinner right before they opened. On top of that, I went there with some business associates just two days ago," Draco finished helplessly, and with each word, Harry's shoulders sagged progressively.

…

Okay, self-esteem gone.

Harry let out a distressed sigh and ran his hand through his hair. There went his plans, gurgling pathetically down the drain. His exuberant aplomb had been unexpectedly derailed, and Harry was now riddled with self-doubt.

"It's Saturday night, it's impossible to get a table at decent restaurants now," Harry mumbled to himself, checking his watch dejectedly. "So where do you want to go now?"

"Anywhere is alright, I reckon. We don't have to have dinner, I'm not hungry. I don't… I don't eat much, anyway," Draco shrugged nonchalantly, but Harry noticed grey eyes turn evasive at the end of Draco's reply. The brunette scowled at nothing in particular, berating himself harshly for not preparing a back-up plan in case things went wrong.

Draco observed the dismay on Harry's face and pursed his lips. "It's not your fault, Potter," he said, then immediately wondered why he actually cared so much. _I'm not supposed to be making it easy for him_, Draco reminded himself as they slowly strolled to an unknown destination. A dry breeze sent a smattering of dry leaves pirouetting across their path and Draco gazed up at the inky night sky.

The weather was gorgeous; no hint of rain, and even slightly… romantic. The heavens were clear, relentlessly deep and painted an even shade of dark. The moon hung low, resplendent and luminous in a breathtakingly frosted white. The stars were out in full force, peppered evenly across the velvety sky. It had been ages ever since Draco had ventured out of the closeted four walls, and he felt a small brick in his outer shell dislodge and disintegrate into dust when he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

Harry warily shot Draco a sideways glance, trying to gauge his mood. The blond's pointed face had its usual luster of paleness, but he also looked drawn and drained at the same time. There were signs of strain around his dim grey eyes, the lines of his face blurred by weariness. His neck was held at a slightly awkward angle, as though he had a crick from sitting behind a desk for too long. The sleek waterfall of his blond hair had been mussed slightly by the wind, and Harry bit his lip uncertainly.

"You're tired, aren't you?" Harry guessed, and his heart sank just a little bit more when Draco nodded in a faintly apologetic manner. Harry's plan was smashed to smithereens, dressed up to the nines with nowhere to go. Loosening his tie, Harry sighed and gazed at Draco, and he was perplexed when he saw Draco staring at the sky, completely enthralled.

Wrinkling his nose doubtfully, Harry lightly touched Draco's fingers and led him to a nearby bench. The air was quiet and sweet, punctuated briefly by the gentle hoot of birds and sharp chirps of crickets. However, the atmosphere felt contrived. Harry cudgeled his brain for topics, unsure of how to break the rather uncomfortable silence that pervaded.

Harry was desperate to come up with a decent conversational gambit, the absolute height of wit, something frighteningly clever yet cool and blasé, some gleaming nugget of dialogue that no one else could even think of-

"How's work?" Harry croaked out, his mouth operating independently of his brain.

_Very smooth, Harry._

"Very well, thanks," Draco replied perfunctorily, the imperious set of his thin mouth twitching slightly, as though he was trying not to smile. His slim body was held as taut as a piano wire, his spine ramrod straight. He carried himself with a particular dignity and distance, complete with a well-controlled, cut-glass voice that no one else could emulate.

In contrast, Harry was plastered carelessly across his half of the bench, one arm flung out casually and his right ankle resting haphazardly on his left thigh. Upon noticing Draco's regal posture, Harry quickly cleared his throat and adjusted his own posture appropriately. A sudden strong gust of cold wind blew, and Draco shivered.

Harry instantly shrugged off his jacket and tried to drape it across Draco's shoulders, but Draco firmly rejected that gallant gesture by holding his hands up, his manners an invulnerable shield to intimacy. A spurt of righteous indignation rose in Harry and he tried not to let it show. Instead, he undid his tie and tossed it offhandedly on top of his already discarded jacket. Staggering shockwaves of seductive heat were exuding from Harry's body, drawing Draco towards him like a magnet. Draco let his breath out tightly through clenched teeth and shifted away just barely.

"I thought you'd still be living in the Manor," Harry asked, genuinely interested.

"No, I moved out soon after I graduated from Hogwarts. Too many… memories," Draco answered vaguely, and Harry realized that he had accidentally asked an Inappropriate Question.

At this point, Harry's stomach growled thunderously. Overcome with embarrassment, Harry quickly hugged his abdomen, as if that would prevent it from happening again. Draco raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"I think I spotted a… hot dog stand around here," Draco suggested, his lips quirking up in mild disdain.

"I'm not going to treat you to fast food when you're out with me!" Harry yelped in consternation.

"It's okay. I'm not hungry. You can grab something for yourself. No, really," Draco reassured when Harry looked like he was about to protest some more. The brunette finally acquiesced, trudging off forlornly.

Harry returned within minutes, one hand holding a salad and another one holding a wrapped burger. He sat down beside Draco and offered the salad to him.

"You have to eat something at least. I insist," Harry urged, a sliver of determination coating his words. Draco tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind his ear and hesitated, but accepted the food eventually. Harry licked his lips and unwrapped his meal eagerly.

A thick, juicy beef patty lay sandwiched between stacks of lettuce and melted cheese, and its crowning glory was a perfectly fried egg, its yolk quivering enticingly when Harry lifted it up. The titillating aroma was making Draco's taste buds tingle, and he quickly tamped that feeling down.

"I'm hungry!" Harry said rather defensively, feeling quite self-conscious when Draco kept staring at his burger. Rubbing his palms vigorously on the knees of his pants, Draco blinked rapidly and ran his tongue across dry lips.

"Why did you send me the letter?" The blond tipped his head to one side and regarded Harry inquisitively as he shifted his salad around furtively with his fork.

Because you smell really nice, Harry immediately replied in his head, but didn't say it out loud, thank God. If he really did verbalize that frank reply, he was sure that Draco would laugh him all the way into next week. "It's because you… you looked really hot that night in the ballroom," Harry hedged, and felt rather gratified when Draco batted his eyelids dramatically and shot Harry a smug glance from underneath his lashes.

"So I wasn't… hot when I was in Hogwarts?"

"What?! Are you kidding me?! You were easily one of the best-looking boys there! Bloody _hell_, if I had known that there was such an amazing body under your Quidditch robes I would have bumped into you so much more often during Gryffindor-Slytherin matches!" Harry exclaimed, waving his burger in agitation as he continued to ramble on heatedly.

"You were a conceited slimy little prat last time, but you were such an adorably _hot _conceited slimy little prat! It's completely unfair how someone can be such a pain in the arse but yet be so damn… _arousing_ at the same time! When I saw you just last month again, I was like, 'God, I have to make that man mine because he's so bloody gorgeous,' and then I got to thinking about how things would have been if I had actually asked you out when we were still in school together 'cos we would probably be a couple by now and it's entirely possible that right now, at this very moment, we would be in bed together! _Naked_!" Harry finished with a flourish, touches of excited pink on his cheeks.

An alarm trilled cheerfully in the back of Harry's mind, and with increasing horror, Harry finally digested what he had just practically yelled to the skies. _Did I just say in bed? Naked?_ _Did I just call my date a pain in the arse?! _Moaning with self-revulsion, Harry glared forlornly at the grass and chewed morosely on his burger. Timid green eyes hesitantly travelled up to Draco, and Harry's expression deflated just a bit more.

Draco's eyes were round islands of shock, his face frozen in astonishment as he gawked open-mouthed at Harry.

Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirped.

"Was that supposed to be a compliment, Potter?" Draco asked rather shakily, having jolted himself out of his amazed daze. Slowly, with his face a sizzling mortified red, Harry nodded shyly. Draco stared a bit more at Harry before shaking his head and laughing a brief, contained, slightly strangled laugh as though he was afraid to let too much out.

But it was still a laugh, nonetheless.

And just like that, a tiny fragment of the ice was broken.

* * *

The cherubic angels, twinned with the background music from the heavenly choir, didn't miraculously appear. There were no clichéd, corny sparks of fireworks and explosives that burst at the back of Draco's eyes whenever he stole glances at Harry. The blond didn't suddenly go all breathless and weak when their hands accidentally brushed each other, nor did he blush an uncharacteristically brilliant bright red whenever he caught Harry staring at him rather… hungrily at times.

It was nothing like that at all. The whole date, in actual fact, had been quite plain, bordering on highly irregular. The few men that Draco had gone out with before had tried to impress him with meals at expensive restaurants, lavishing him with extravagant presents and sparkling, studious conversation about business. The date with Harry, however, had been far from the norm.

Draco couldn't help but wonder whether Harry had planned it like that on purpose to set himself apart from the other rich men. However, it really wasn't Harry's fault that Draco had unintentionally scuppered the plans for tonight.

"I've probably ruined it, haven't I?" Harry muttered worriedly when the both of them were back at Draco's doorstep after the date. "If I was you, I wouldn't go out with myself," he continued, the well-developed laugh lines at the sides of his eyes deepening as Harry dredged up a self-deprecating grin.

Yes, things really had gotten to a rocky start. The uneasy silence had been interrupted by ambiguous, stilted conversation that didn't really get them anywhere. But as both men slowly warmed up to each other, the atmosphere had revved up considerably, up to a point where they were able to keep up a steady stream of light chit-chat. With every friendly laugh and every shy smile that Harry generously conveyed, Draco felt the brunette's energy lift and buoy him.

They talked mainly about Hogwarts, both of their minds and voices weaving tapestries of sweet nostalgia, the conversation sprinkled with teasing excerpts of their past childish enmity. They skimmed cursorily over their individual careers, since Draco had a feeling that Harry would end up getting bored out of his skull if they turned the topic towards his career. Moreover, Harry was an Unspeakable, which strictly meant no divulging of sensitive information.

Draco lived in a manic, frenzied world that was hopelessly thrown off its feet and operated solely to its own schedule. Many a time Draco had to wake up in the dead of the night, force himself to be wide awake before Flooing over to a conference that involved witches and wizards of different nationalities. The inconvenient truth was that Draco was a die-hard workaholic. He had nothing else to devote to, actually. When he wasn't out dining with clients, he would be holed up in the sanctuary of his study at home or in the office, going madly through a never-ending flurry of letters and proposals that made his brain ache and eyes go a bit woozy after a long while of non-stop reading and planning.

With a dawning surprise, Draco actually realized that he had rather… liked spending time with Harry. Being with him was like a little slice of calm oasis after being swept up in a thunderous hurricane that was his work. Harry managed to slow things down to a carefree, easygoing pace.

"So… this is incredibly awkward," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck wryly. Snapping out of his reverie, Draco immediately figured out the controversial question that bugged the end of every first date:

To Kiss or not to Kiss Good-night?

Curious to see what Harry would do, Draco simply folded his arms playfully and flashed Harry a cryptic half-grin. He was waiting to see whether Harry would simply scrunch his eyes up and plant a small, virginal kiss on Draco's cheek, or sweep Draco up in a passionate embrace and equally passionate kiss _maybe with tongue ooh-_ or simply stand there, wringing his hands in a flabbergasted fashion.

What he did not expect was Harry's demeanor to suddenly shift from demure and coy to rather lustful and suggestive.

"You think there's… something we can do about it?" Harry purred cheekily and unleashed one of his heartbreaker smiles that were guaranteed to send the knees of any living, hormonal male a-knocking. A lascivious tongue traced the outline of Harry's upper lip, and the brunette raised an eyebrow, a wanton smile toying on his rosebud-pink lips. His allure and charisma was at full wattage, and Harry had a feeling that it wouldn't be long before he'd have a swooning Draco in his hands.

Unfortunately, Draco turned out to be rather immune to the extraordinary sunbeam of Harry's charm. Fixing Harry with his own patented turn-me-down-if-you-dare smoulder in his twinkling grey eyes that had broken its own share of hearts, Draco tilted his head to one side and brought his body closer towards Harry's. Delivering a ruthless double whammy of spellbinding smile and hot, haunting eye contact, Draco licked his own lips and replied, his voice a mere provocative whisper.

"Yeah, you could just kiss me and get it over and done with."

"Really?" Harry murmured back disbelievingly and shuffled nearer to Draco.

"Actually, _no_," Draco grinned impishly and immediately retreated further before Harry could touch him, enjoying how the smitten look on Harry's face suddenly mutated into one of disappointment. Harry pouted and ruffled the dark hair on the nape of his neck.

_your goodnight kiss felt like a ghost- _

"Here's your score," Draco said abruptly. He fished out a neatly folded piece of parchment and placed it in Harry's palm. Harry's face brightened, but when he was about to unfold it, Draco quickly covered the back of the brunette's hand with his own.

"Not now, Potter."

"I'm Harry. Not Potter anymore," Harry corrected gently, his thumb reaching up to Draco's wrist and stroking pale, smooth skin tenderly. As though his touch had broken some sort of sweet enchantment, a startled Draco swiftly snatched his hand away. Blatantly ignoring the hurt that zipped as fast as quicksilver across jade green eyes, the blond fastened an impersonal smile on his features and clasped his hands tightly behind his back.

"I'll see you next week then," Harry said quickly, ironing tactfully over the brusque change in atmosphere. But as the brunette turned to go, he heard Draco's voice pipe up smugly behind him.

"Well, _Harry_, you've got some... egg yolk on your chin."

Upon seeing the flustered expression on Harry's face, Draco snickered and realized that Harry's name sounded rather nice on his tongue, actually.

* * *

Maybe if he stayed like that for a while more it would turn out to be just a dream in which he was actually just preparing for tonight's date right now and not regretting how things went… With that cheerfully delusional thought, an aghast Harry burrowed deeper under the covers of his bed and pushed the pillow harder onto the back of his head. And the bloody _egg_!

Horrified, Harry scrunched his eyes shut and let out a miserable groan.

Sighing deeply, the brunette hooked his toes around the pair of pants that he had worn that night, jerked his leg up and dug down in his back pocket for the score that Draco had presented him.

The whole evening had been rather anti-climactic, Harry thought. Only one and a half hours had passed before they had unfortunately ran out of things to talk about. But things will get better, Harry promised himself gravely before he unfolded the parchment and stared at the score. His eyes widened incredulously, and he could feel his emotions chugging up like a toy train.

The result wasn't as good as he'd wanted it to be, but it wasn't that terrible, taking into account the events that had transpired that evening. Harry's blood began to do some sort of strange happy dance, a goofy grin splattered all over his face as he flopped back to bed again. Crossing his ankles, Harry placed his hands behind his head, a speculative expression on his face.

The date had passed by in a blur with only succinct snapshots of clarity that stayed in Harry's mind. Draco had a… guardedness, an irritating characteristic trait to safeguard personal information. They were doing some sort of mating dance; every time Harry took one step forward, Draco would immediately recoil into politeness and shy away two steps backwards. Every question was skillfully parried, every offer firmly rebuffed. Draco Malfoy was an enigma, a secret that was hidden cunningly between the gilded pages of an elaborately bound book crafted in a hieroglyphic language that was indecipherable to Harry.

Every facial muscle on that beautiful pale face was rigorously controlled. Draco had never boasted a proper, full-fledged smile, the sort of friendly smile that made the corners of his eyes crease and made his whole face open up. The most that Harry was able to evoke was a mere quick flash of pearly white teeth, a lightning-fast twitch of his lips, garnished with a fresh glaze of typical Malfoy cynicism.

All Harry had was a very rough sketch of the blond that only managed to brush the surface, and like a desperate artist with passion and recklessness lacing his every vein, Harry wanted, no, _needed_ to know more about the other man. He longed to destroy Draco's aloof demeanor, to gently coax him out of his impeccably varnished carapace. Draco illuminated a languid, almost bored sexuality _with legs of a dancer, poise of a queen and the grace of a swan-_ which turned Harry on to no end.

* * *

_"Harry? Harry! What are you thinking about?"_

_"Nothing much, just wondering where to take Draco next week…"_

_"Well, you could always take him to a nice restaurant for dinner to make up for the *giggle* salad that you got him."_

_"… Hermione, it is not funny."_

_"Oh alright, I'll stop teasing you about that, or at least for the next two hours. Perhaps you could bring him to a musical? I do remember reading about a handful of nice performances going on this weekend."_

_"I don't know about that… I mean, every other bloke who has dated him would probably have done the same thing, and I don't want him to sit through two hours of a show that he's already watched. I want to do something that'll make him relax when he's with me."_

_"Okay, why don't you do something that both of you have in common?"_

_"I did think of that, but the both of us move in completely different social circles, and we have absolutely nothing to talk about except when we were in school together- oh! I think I've got it! How does this sound? *whisper whisper*"_

_"Are you sure, Harry? If he doesn't like it all then it's going to be completely disastrous!"_

_"I'm just going to risk it, Hermione. But I have a… feeling that he'll really like it."_

* * *

Emerging out from the bath, a pink-cheeked Draco toweled his wet blond hair dry and yawned widely. Draco ran his tongue inside his mouth thoughtfully when he saw a splash of red and white which turned out to be the flowers that Harry had given to him four nights ago.

He paused, as if conducting some sort of inner debate within his mind. After a moment, he walked towards the petals, picked the vase up and carried it carefully to his room before depositing it on the small table beside his bed.

Flopping down slovenly onto his bed, his stomach pressed against the bed and his elbows planted on his pillow, he randomly selected two roses and plucked them out. They were still as beautiful and fresh as before. He ran a practiced eye over the flowers, from the graceful, thin stem, to the lush viridian of the leaves and lastly all the way up to the delicate folds and ruffles of the petals. Their thorns had been considerately snipped away, and Draco twirled the flowers by their stems, the end of his finger tracing the swirl and whorl of exquisite blooms.

And then, very slowly, as if he didn't dare to, Draco let a smile grace his lips, a sweet, true and unrestrained smile that crept all the way up to his crinkling eyes.

* * *

**/tbc**


	3. From The Outside Looking In

**Flirt by xErised**

**From The Outside Looking In**

* * *

Draco was all in a dither.

The ex-Slytherin liked to think that he could effortlessly offer an unflappable and composed exterior to the world at all times. He had succinctly established that fact by exerting absolute control over his mannerisms during the last date with Harry. He had made sure that his expression was a seamless blend of polite indifference and detachment, although his heart subversively hinted otherwise.

The landscape that greeted the blond was a dazzling display of red and yellow. The gloriously sweet scent of heady flowers bombarded Draco. Golden prisms of sunlight were flung carelessly and extravagantly over blades of freshly-cut grass. It was a breathtaking play of shadow and light, radiant enough for the devoted artist to set up canvas and easel and paint his heart out.

But it did nothing to calm Draco down.

Draco gnawed on his knuckle unwittingly as he paced the ground furiously like a caged animal. He was in front of the huge building that he was supposed to meet the brunette for their second date. The whole area was owned by Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, Harry's good friends during the days of Hogwarts. United by their passion of sports, they had pooled their hard-earned money together and started up a business venture. The whole idea was to integrate Muggle sports into the magical world, complemented with trained instructors who were able to teach the rules and practical aspects of each sport. Nobody had done anything like that before so it carried along with it high risks, but both men had shrugged off any possible concerns and leapt bravely into it with both feet.

Quidditch was the only activity that the wizarding folk were exposed to, and as the economy picked up and as the public began to open up more towards all things Muggle after the war, it appeared that the whole idea had been a stroke of genius. It had begun small, with Dean and Seamus presenting only the more popular Muggle sports. But as interest drummed up slowly but steadily, they were able to expand further, affording better facilities and more classes that catered to all ages and genders. Soon, both proud proprietors were able to shift to a prime spot near a busy wizarding town, and business jumped up by five-fold.

Draco knew all about it since _The Daily Prophet_ had done a two-page spread about the grand opening of the sports complex. Moreover, some of Draco's business acquaintances frequented the place for the occasional relaxing game of… Draco wrinkled his nose as he cast around in his mind for the unusual name.

_Golf._ That was it. They did invite Draco along for one of their games, but frankly, the blond couldn't see any point in whacking a tiny ball with a metal stick and praying like hell that it fell neatly into the damn hole.

He still had an aversion to anything Muggle after a lifetime of strict Malfoy upbringing, but eventually, his curiosity had been aroused. As a result, Millicent had come in work one day armed with a small Muggle television and both of them had hesitantly tuned in to the sports channel. It had been a surprisingly furtive maneuver, with both pure-bloods pretending not to be interested, their eyes roaming around the television set shiftily. It felt… dirty, as though they were watching something taboo. Draco had been on tenterhooks the whole time, expecting Lucius to suddenly pop up from nowhere and start yelling at them until the infamous muscle at his jaw was ticking ferociously like a time bomb.

And then Draco had encountered the most horrifying, unnerving thing that he had seen ever since the war.

Wrestling.

It was an absolute eye-opener, the way both ex-Slytherins heard the merciless sound of cracking bone, accompanied with fierce, triumphant, almost animalistic roars and the brutal thump of flesh against the hard stage where both muscled men fought almost to the point of death. Repugnance and panic cut into their eyes, Millicent and Draco had gawped, slack-jawed at the… barbarity of it all.

_"What do you think they're doing all of… this for?! It seems to be just a… game!"_

_"Fun? Money? Bragging rights? Merlin, Draco, look at him go!"_

_"Sweet Salazar…"_

After a moment, Draco had to retreat into his office and fortify himself with a few deep, calming breaths.

This was what he was worried about. It didn't help that Draco was unaware of other Muggle sports besides golf and wrestling. He felt like a tourist in some distant country, being cajoled and wheedled into trying an entirely foreign cuisine.

Jolting himself back into the present, Draco bit his lip hard and tried to suppress the anxiety and apprehension gathering one grain at a time in him. Harry _liked _him, didn't he? There was no way that there was going to be any sort of… orchestrated _violence_, right? Draco was just being melodramatic as usual. Feeling his heart rate gradually decelerate, the blond closed his eyes briefly and let out a sigh of relief.

As if on cue, two able-bodied men strolled right in front of him, their powerfully corded arms gripping their own pair of boxing gloves.

Round grey eyes, brewing with anxiety and misplaced paranoia, latched onto them uneasily, following their progress as they stepped through the automatic glass doors. Draco's gaze slowly strayed to the two majestic lion statues that flanked both sides of the entrance of the sports center. It was probably a tribute to Seamus and Dean's Gryffindor heritage, Draco surmised.

Maybe it was all a scam, a well-thought out, elaborate scheme to get back at Draco for all the taunting over the years! Maybe Harry was about to truss Draco up exactly like a roast pig and present him to Seamus and Dean on a silver platter and take revenge right now! Merlin, they were going to beat him up and take turns doing it! He could see it oh-so-clearly in his mind's eye; it was going to be some sort of dirty free for all, with them bashing away happily at his precious and perfectly sculpted face (that they were all jealous of, naturally).

Even the girls weren't that better off; Ginny Weasley's bat-bogey hexes were practically _legendary_, and that Hermione _Granger_… Draco gulped nervously and rubbed sadly at his jaw. Ever since that punch in third year, his bone structure had never felt the same again.

Those Gryffindors were a violent, uncouth bunch, the whole _sodding_ lot of them.

His mind was already scampering far away to nightmares of broken bones, bruised eyes and mussed-up hair, and the pain, oh _God_, the heart-wrenching, agonizing _pain_ of his battered, abused, thoroughly _mangled_ body-

Behind him, a curious Harry paused momentarily in his tracks and wondered why his date was hyperventilating in a rather alarming fashion and spitting in fury at nothing in particular. The brunette shrugged, approached Draco from the back and tapped the blond gently on the shoulder.

In reply, Draco jumped out of his skin and squawked like a demented parrot.

"Don't touch me, Potter! You're not holding any boxing gloves, are you?! I can take you on anytime you want!" Draco immediately blurted out upon seeing the ex-Gryffindor and windmilled his arms wildly, hoping to pass it off as some wonky self-defense tactic.

Harry looked at Draco like he had gone slightly mad.

"Are you all right? You seem a bit… off today," Harry pointed out and then shot the blond a quizzical look when Draco motioned warily at the picnic basket that Harry held.

"What's in there?"

"I packed some food for the both of us. Are you sure you're fine?" Harry repeated, studying Draco with a concerned gaze and lightly squeezing the top of his left arm.

Draco's lips pulled together in a somber line and he sucked in a restoring breath tightly. That was nothing short of disgraceful, Draco chided himself sternly. That wasn't the image that he wanted to project to Harry at all. With a quick clench of his fists, he managed to claw back the original vestiges of self-confidence and haughtiness. He had seen the mild distress in Harry's soft green eyes and felt the affection in Harry's tender touch, and Draco almost laughed out loud at how unfounded his fears had been.

Oh well. Mother had always said that even as a child, he had been blessed with an overactive imagination and a flair for the dramatics.

"Let's go then. What are you waiting for?" Draco sniffed loftily and trotted off, his head held high and nose in the air. Harry blinked at this sudden turn-about in Draco's character and raised an eyebrow inquisitively before hurrying after the blond.

There was a pretty good crowd for a lazy Sunday afternoon, an astute Draco noted as he swept a casual eye over the steady spate of wizards, witches and children trickling out from the specially allocated Floo room to their left. Numerous eye-catching pictures of various Muggle sports dotted the clean, sunshine yellow walls. Dangling sturdily from the ceiling was a huge screen that detailed the type and locations of the classes held hourly. Tipping his head to one side, Draco let his eyes wander around the screen, his mind registering words like Quidditch pitches, dance studios, the beach, fields and classrooms.

"Harry, mate! Here for your usual laps around the pool?" Seamus beamed and clapped his old friend jovially on the back. Beside him, Dean was touching up on a few of the advertorial posters that he had drawn up especially for the center. Upon hearing Seamus's genial greeting, Dean looked up and matched Seamus's grin.

"Still teaching football classes, Dean? How are the missus and the kids, Seamus?" Harry asked, returning their smiles.

Draco dawdled behind uncertainly, but plodded forth when Harry back-tracked and tugged him along.

"I've brought Draco along for a date," Harry said and turned to Draco. "Seamus and Dean run this place." In response, Draco formally inclined his head towards the two of them, but did not offer a proper acknowledgement.

"Oh, erm… welcome then," Seamus scratched his head and said rather lamely. Harry's announcement was a bolt out of the blue, completely throwing them off-kilter. They knew that their friend fancied blokes, but _Malfoy_? Dean and Seamus exchanged a meaningful look. They weren't people that _judged_, but Harry and Malfoy were so… mismatched. They couldn't imagine Malfoy along at the pub with them, cheering fervently when their Quidditch team scored a goal and throwing peanuts and booing in mock anger when the match didn't go their way. Malfoy didn't fit in with their type of people at all.

Suddenly, a bell tinkled ahead, thankfully interrupting the awkward atmosphere that pervaded. Dean whipped out his wand and flicked it wordlessly at the board. Immediately, the words morphed and melted away, replaced effortlessly by the refreshed schedule.

"We'll be off then," Harry piped up and led Draco away. Both of them didn't need to be mind-readers to figure out the incredulity and dubiousness that Seamus and Dean made known non-verbally, but wisely, neither of them said anything.

They walked in silence for a while, trying to ignore the slight smudge of strain crystallizing in the air between them. They passed by purposeful instructors attired in uniforms, their wands stowed safely away in their pockets. Students drifted along the hallway, dressed accordingly to the nature of their classes. A group of giggly teenage witches brushed past them, primped in candy-pink ballet outfits.

"What's going on there?!" Draco exclaimed, gaping openly at the dozen or so scantily clad men and women. Merlin, they were practically _naked_! A few of them were doing stretching exercises and loosening up their limbs before diving into the aquamarine pool.

"Oh, it's called swimming. We strip down to swimming trunks and just swim. It's great exercise and loads of fun," Harry said, jostling an amazed Draco nearer towards the pool area.

Draco's eyes were out on stalks. In the wizarding world, everyone was generally still covered up in their robes, so this flaunting of… nudity in broad daylight seemed to be an utmost shock for his system.

"I don't… understand…" Draco raised his arms, his palms facing skywards and his eyes grey puddles of muddy confusion. And then he caught the 'we' in Harry's explanation and the opening sentence of Finnigan's greeting. "You swim too?! You get… _naked_ in front of strangers, in _public_-" the blond faltered hopelessly, before he finally connected the jigsaw puzzles together. He didn't remember Harry's shoulders being so broad and dreamy last time, this… _swimming_ lark must have made them like this!

Upon catching sight of Draco's stricken expression, Harry threw his head back and laughed heartily, this great guffaw that made him all the more attractive. "There's nothing seedy about it! We don't… _touch_ each other in the pool or anything. It's a very popular sport for Muggles."

A flustered Draco continued hotly, gesticulating agitatedly with his hands and his cheeks daubed a disturbed pink.

"Everyone can see _everything_! This is nothing but indecent exposure!" Draco squeaked, his eyes widening further when a particularly fit wizard, armed with his own enviable set of expansive shoulders, exited the swimming area and whisked past them, wearing nothing but flimsy material that was cleverly passed off as swimming trunks. "I think I just saw his-" the blond whispered, partly in awe and partly in horror. The heat was rising rapidly in his cheeks and he fanned his face with widespread fingers. "What if, what if those… trunk things drop off when you're swimming halfway?!"

_I don't want all of them to be seeing you like this!_ The intensity of the possessiveness blazing through Draco was downright troubling and he hastily banished it. _He's not my boyfriend, he can choose to exhibit his… goods to anyone that he wants, we've just had one date, it doesn't make any sense for me to be this… clingy! Draco, Draco, what's the absolute matter with you?!_

"Why why, Draco, I do believe that you're… jealous?" Harry gasped dramatically, his lips pulling up in a slow, teasing smile.

"Jealous? Why would I be jealous?" Draco countered, picking up his pace evasively. But Harry noticed that the blond's pale cheeks were still tinged pink, and his own green eyes smoldered like embers _he **is **jealous!-_ as he caught up with Draco and steered the other man neatly to their left.

It didn't take long for them to reach Harry's destination. The whole turf was dedicated to a humongous frozen pool. Clumps of people, mainly loving couples and families, scattered the borders and the middle of the ice rink. Draco blinked quickly and moved closer to the bizarre scene, his brow furrowed questioningly. It seemed like they were… gliding on the ice, their shoes equipped with… blades that allowed them to coast smoothly from side to side. Draco felt like he had stumbled into a wrong world by accident.

"What's your shoe size?" Harry asked, breaking into Draco's thoughts. The ex-Slytherin answered Harry distractedly, his eyes never wavering from the arena. With a brisk swish of his wand, Harry easily summoned two pairs of ice skates and passed one set to Draco.

"Are they clean?" Draco demanded, his nose wrinkling in mild disdain as he pinched the laces of the skates with his thumb and forefinger as though he was forced to hold onto a dead animal.

"Each pair is equipped with a Cleaning Charm," Harry stated and jammed his feet into his own pair of skates. Draco eyed the offensive-looking footwear narrowly and made a dismissive sound under his breath, but he eventually put them on. It felt alien on his feet. Draco flexed his toes experimentally in the skates and tried to stand up, but ended up wobbling precariously on his knees.

The air echoed with joyous giggles, high-pitched yelps and muffled thumps. Draco inwardly cringed as a couple crashed unceremoniously into the perimeter of the rink. After a short moment, they laughed good-naturedly and picked themselves up unsteadily before continuing their rounds.

"And Muggles do this for leisure? Merlin, do they have a _death_ wish or something?" Draco exclaimed while he stubbornly waved away Harry's hand of support. Determinedly, the blond bumbled and fumbled his way from the benches to the ice rink. Harry dexterously tagged along beside him, controlling his skates like a pro.

"We should take it slow," Harry encouraged.

"It doesn't look too difficult, in fact. It's just… ice," Draco scoffed. _If Muggles can do it, why can't I? I'm a Malfoy, for heaven's sake_! And before Harry could stop him, Draco was off like a shot. His heartbeat quickening in anticipation, Draco piloted himself, albeit a bit clumsily, towards the side of the rink without incident. In spite of himself, Draco's face split into a vibrant grin and he chalked it up to natural Malfoy poise and grace.

Ooh, maybe he could learn how to do those pretty looking figure eights!

His fingers curling into the banisters and his tongue held in deep concentration between his teeth, Draco launched himself further and faster. His eyes were nothing but a glittery grey blaze, his sights ruthlessly set on the very middle of the rink.

Sadly, he noticed the little boy a moment too late and thanks to his agile Seeker reflexes, Draco wrenched his lithe body out of the way to narrowly avoid colliding into him. But his balance was unfortunately thrown off-course, causing Draco to careen and catapult out of control, his terrified eyes bulging, his arms spinning feverishly as he squealed away like an angry piglet before cannoning to a stop by smashing inelegantly into the barricades.

"Holy mother of Salazar, Potter, are you trying to _kill_ me?!" Draco hollered, nursing his aching bum. Harry, bristling with worry, was hot on his heels, skidding precisely to a perfect stop. Upon ascertaining that Draco wasn't injured, and taking in the adorable pout that hung on Draco's lips, the brunette erupted into deep chuckles and bent down, helping his date up. Draco immediately hugged the wall for dear life, a thoroughly frazzled expression plastered all over his face. Harry's grinning eyes were turning Draco's body into a pool of useless embarrassment.

"I said to take it slow. Well, if you think it'll make you feel better, I'll rub your arse for you," Harry suggested mischievously, a devilish tilt poised on his eyebrows.

In reply, Draco blasted Harry with a daggered look. His pride and his bum were unexpectedly bruised, and Draco squirmed uncomfortably when Harry pulled him closer and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

"Come on. We'll do it properly this time," Harry murmured. As if by reflex, Draco's spine stiffened and his heart jerked in alarm, before picking up pace and beating in double quick time. The air was suddenly electrified with energy, and Draco gulped. Harry's touch was jangling sensitive nerves, his warm skin pressed thrillingly against alabaster arms. Harry's scent, simmering with masculine virility _exactly like male nectar-_ hit Draco like a ton of bricks. This was too close, too fast, and Draco shrank away, ignoring the sliver of disappointment that gashed across Harry's features.

"I won't let you fall," Harry said earnestly, his eyes glittering like sun on frost.

"Promise?" Draco whispered back, already missing how Harry held him, the astonishing way Harry's fingertips left a trail of goosebumps prickling on his skin, how he felt so oddly comforted in Harry's protective embrace.

Harry nodded with the enthusiasm of a puppy about to be taken out for a walk.

Both men linked eyes for an instant, and even though Draco's head was full of contradictory thoughts, he felt the heat, fizzing with sweet yearning, gnawing away at his hesitance.

Draco paused, before regally offering Harry his hand, like how a king would present himself superciliously to his subjects.

* * *

Scraps of orange-pink cloud embellished the skies and the sun shone down gaily on them, drenching both men in gentle light and heat. Salty sea air breathed lazily over the foamy surf. The calming rhythm of the slow, rolling motion of undulating waves serenaded them, and Draco buried his toes deeper into the warm and gritty sand.

The scenery was a perfect backdrop to the spectacle that welcomed him.

The air was brought to life by excited exclamations and typical hubbub stemming from the various people that occupied the beach. A large group of teenagers had set up a net and were busily engaged in a competitive game of volleyball. Children clambered and giggled boisterously; some swinging noisily from the playground, others bouncing all over the place with their exuberant energy.

"What's the point? Everything will be washed away eventually when the tide comes in," Draco asked, indicating a band of chattering children building a majestic-looking sandcastle, complete with tiny, delicate pink seashells that festooned the very peaks of the towers.

"They're having fun," Harry answered, grinning. Draco snorted derisively, his attention already ambling away to a couple who were flying a kite. Interest bloomed up within the blond as he cocked his head, curious grey eyes tracking their progress. Harry caught the curiosity in Draco's expression and smiled.

"Ron and Hermione's kids, Rose and Hugo, love to fly kites. We always save some time to fly kites whenever I bring them here," Harry mentioned, beaming happily at the thought of the two Weasley kids.

"Wanna play? I can always rent one," he offered, flicking a thumb in the direction of a shack behind them which sold numerous beach paraphernalia. Draco blinked and lifted his chin off his knee before shaking his head _like a small part of him was wary of happiness-_, nudging away the tiny rebel cell in him that desperately wanted to be like that carefree couple, their hands entwined together as they shrieked joyously and steered that strange-looking toy.

"I know you want to. Come on, let's get one," Harry enticed, but immediately fell silent when Draco's sharp features stiffened, his eyebrows slamming together in displeasure as a heavy curtain of inhibition slowly descended on the blond.

"I'll bring you back when you're officially my boyfriend then," Harry relented, choosing his words carefully to defuse the situation.

"Awfully confident, aren't you?" Draco remarked, a corner of his lips hiking up in a reluctant smile. Harry shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

Harry had been apprehensive and nervous about the whole thing, his head suddenly sprouting second thoughts. Bringing Draco here could have gone horrendously bad or wonderfully brilliant. Draco could have violently objected to the ice-skating, dismissing it as plebeian and 'not his style', but he didn't. In the end, they had actually spent around one hour at the rink, much to Harry's delight. But this time, Harry had a back-up plan. If Draco didn't take to the ice-skating at all, well, there were two enormous Quidditch pitches available, and a whole collection of the fastest brooms in the market available for renting.

He had gleaned onto this idea simply because the only similarity that the both of them had shared during Hogwarts was their passion and competitiveness of flying, and hopefully sports, so Harry was hoping that this could diminish the rift between them.

And it seemed to have worked, except for one very _very_ minor detail:

Draco didn't eat.

Lifting up a hand to peer at the remains of their meal that was packed away neatly in the basket, Harry sighed when he noticed that Draco's portion had mainly gone uneaten. The blond had nibbled and picked at his food like a bird. A dismayed Harry wondered if the food was not up to par with Draco's standards, but after the first mouthful, Harry was assured the sandwiches were perfectly scrumptious.

But no matter, the brunette knew that the other man had enjoyed today's date as much as he did. Draco's grins and laughs were dispensed more freely now, and Harry could his standoffishness slowly thawing into animation. There were revolving sides _how he would blow hot and cold- _to Draco's personality, as though he wasn't sure which aspect of his character to present to Harry.

Sometimes he would catch Draco smiling widely to himself, but quickly hiding it whenever he turned his head back towards Harry. At other times, he could feel the ghost of the old Draco, the sarcastic and arrogant Draco that would struggle to make himself known. It was disconcerting to say the least, but Harry liked to think that today was a major coup, compared to their disastrous first date.

The orange behind Draco's lightly closed eyes was soothing and warm, and he let the sun play on his eyelids by tilting his head slightly from side to side. Shards of golden sunlight flickered teasingly through the shade of the branches above him, lulling him into cozy relaxation. He yawned and shifted his limbs, his arms splayed out carelessly like a lounging starfish.

Draco felt himself wafting into a realm of surreal pleasure, but before he could unwind further, he felt butterfly-soft touches graze over his fingers. Draco frowned, but didn't move a muscle. But it wasn't long before the same exact feeling spread over his knuckles, caused by light, devious touches.

He cracked a bleary eye open, then jerked upright in aristocratic alarm when he saw Harry's hand tip-toeing slyly onto his own. His lips pursed into a moue of disapproval, a visibly incensed Draco yanked his hand away and skewered Harry with a blatant glare, a glare that dimmed when Harry's eyes flashed predatorily, a feral, downright naughty grin hovering on his lips. Dark lashes batted lazily as Harry stretched languidly, causing the hem of his shirt to lift, revealing a tempting strip of taut, tan skin.

Taking advantage of Draco's misplaced attentions, Harry pounced, covering Draco's hand brazenly with his own.

"Potter!" Draco spluttered and exclaimed sternly, but any subsequent words wilted on his lips when Draco dropped his gaze down to their still-entangled hands.

"That's what most people do on dates. They hold hands," the brunette added before wriggling closer towards Draco.

"Do we fall under the category of 'most people'?" Draco retaliated.

"Do we?" Harry parried and traced a fingertip calmly around the pale quarter-moons of Draco's neatly-kept cuticles.

"I-" Draco started, but stopped short when Harry turned his hand over and began to caress the faint criss-crossings that streaked Draco's palm. Instead, Draco looked away and harrumphed under his breath, but he didn't move his hand away, nor did he react to Harry's skilful ministrations.

The blond stared steadfastly into the distance, but he couldn't help the rare, unguarded smile that leaked out messily from his lips that simply _refused_ to go away. Draco's heart flipped over like a pancake and he gulped. A thousand silvery sheen-like words darted coquettishly behind that single hand-holding gesture, and Draco blushed slightly when Harry gave his hand an affectionate squeeze.

But Draco didn't reciprocate his squeeze.

"Can I meet you at Ron and Hermione's place next week?" Harry suddenly said, withdrawing his hand slightly.

"What? Are we having a… double date?" Draco said, his brows furrowing in a show of indignation. He realized that he luxuriated in spending time with Harry alone, and he didn't want anyone butting in on his little slice of heaven _what heaven, Draco, it's only the second date!_**-**, even though Ron and Hermione were Harry's oldest and closest friends.

"No, they won't be around, don't worry," Harry reassured.

"I just don't want to think that we're inconveniencing them, that's all," Draco added, extending a finger and drawing squiggly lines in the sand that glistened and sparkled like fine demerara sugar underneath the sun's rays.

"I'll give you today's score when I get home. I don't have any parchment on me now," Draco said, inching his legs nearer to Harry.

"Look, about the score thing, is it okay if we just ditch the whole idea? I just don't like the feeling of having to… _pass_ every date. It reminds me a bit too much of school," Harry tried, and wasn't surprised when Draco regarded him with a level stare and slitted eyes. Draco twisted his hand back coldly and placed it on his lap.

"I hardly think that you're in any position to bargain with me about the rules, Potter," Draco pointed out in frighteningly crisp tones, his words drizzling forward in a lazy drawl. By doing this, he was letting Harry know once and for all that the blond had the upper hand at all times, and that he could call off this arrangement oh-so-easily with a mere snap of his fingers.

But upon glimpsing Harry's slightly distressed expression, Draco tactfully bit back another retort. "If you must know, I did have fun today," he murmured quietly and casually let his hand relax and slip down from his thigh to the blanket beneath them.

"I know," Harry grinned cheekily before going on, "Would you watch the sunset with me?"

"I would like to, but-"

"It won't take long. Three hours for a date, isn't it? It seems like we've got roughly another… one hour to go," Harry revealed, a sweet yet insolent smile playing on his lips.

Draco squinted skywards at the rippling clouds that floated along together with the mellow glow of the sinking sun, which dipped significantly towards the horizon. The leaves above were a mosaic of dusky auburns and yellows as the evening took on an amber, incandescent-like hue and conferring a dreamy, spun sugar-like quality. No matter how hard he tried to, Draco couldn't turn his back on this scene, and it was as though the gods themselves were giving Draco the go-ahead to acquiesce to Harry's request.

Harry's presence was like a warm Caribbean breeze to him, his adoration and underlying passion like a gentle wave lapping at an inert rock, steadily and patiently wearing Draco down. And slowly, with Draco's hesitancy slipping away like shadows at dawn, he reached over and wrapped his fingers tentatively around Harry's wrist.

Beside him, Harry edged a glance in Draco's direction and cleared his throat. He longed to wrap Draco up in his arms and cuddle him, but he knew that that won't do for now. He nonchalantly shifted a bit closer, loving the way Draco met his eyes with a shy sideways peek. Harry interlaced their fingers together, giving Draco's pale hand a subdued squeeze.

And this time, Draco squeezed back.

* * *

**/tbc**

Updates will now be on every Friday, since I'll be graduating from school soon, leaving me loads of time to write.

Please don't forget to review! (:


	4. Innuendo

**Flirt by xErised**

**Innuendo**

* * *

The spotlights shone down on them relentlessly, writhing hotly against glazed, sleek bodies. Oiled, smooth expanse of skin sparkled as though dusted with glittery stars as the women pranced and twirled their way across the catwalk in an undulating trail of avant-garde couture, like how a necklace would unravel all the way down to their pearls. Accessories such as rhinestone bracelets and chunky rings winked coquettishly from the willowy limbs of the models.

The air swelled with the scent of opulence, pleasure and of course, the fecundity of sheer, domineering money. From Draco's vantage point, he could see the rich and the famous ensconced in cozy little circles of part-conversation and part-bragging at the pier. Wives compared the size of their diamond rings and their wardrobe, each barbed insult cleverly hidden behind their counterfeit smiles and cutting eyes. Their husbands, on the other hand, stood just out of earshot of their wives while they, similarly, boasted, but about their own stashed-away mistresses.

Thumbprints of pomegranate cloud lingered stubbornly in the sky, nothing but mere dregs of the sunset. Draco tipped his head back and finished off the last remnants of his champagne, but before he even could place the glass down, a waiter had swiftly appeared out of nowhere and refreshed his glass.

Only two people were present in the highest level of the Muggle ship: Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy, one an upcoming fashion designer whose radical outfits were the latest trend and _so_ in vogue and another an equally rising star in the hospitality industry.

Both ex-Slytherins were safely sequestered away from the hoi polloi. Draco could only hear the muffled, thumping bass from the music below them and the gentle lapping of waves against the dock.

Pansy pursed her lips in mild irritation, her sharp eyes hooking onto one particular model.

"She's wearing the sodding thing all wrong! The ribbon's supposed to be on the other side, sweet Merlin! How many bloody times have I told them, those _imbeciles_!" The brunette huffed angrily. Without preamble, she picked up a pencil on the table and began to sketch, her hand a blur with each frolic and frill of evening wear.

Seeing the agitation on his friend's face, Draco chuckled and leaned back into his cushioned chair. Crystal earrings, so long that they skimmed the slender curves of her neck, dangled extravagantly from Pansy's earlobes. Her hair was styled smartly into a short, no-nonsense bob, and there was only a minimal amount of make-up on her features. Her nails were kept short and sensible, decorated with careless, yet artful splodges of vibrant blue, red and yellow.

Pansy tilted her head and continued to outline her design. She crossed her legs and thoughtlessly worked her sandal loose, a wayward strap sliding between her toes.

Draco knew that that meant Pansy was concentrating hard, so he wisely kept quiet and enjoyed the ambience. He had always known Pansy would eventually become a designer. Back when they were still in Hogwarts, it was uncanny how Pansy could just come up with an eclectic mix of outfits that, even to Draco's practiced eye for fashion, would never work well together, yet when she wore it, it just seemed to… fit.

Gradually, the stroke and rhythm of Pansy's hand decelerated as she placed the finishing touches on her drawing.

"Are you free tomorrow evening? I'm hosting a dinner," Draco asked, a long fingernail tracing the rim of his wine glass judiciously.

"Who'll be there?" Pansy replied in a distracted tone while she valiantly tried to rub away a dirty smudge on the paper.

"Well... the usual. Millicent, Theodore, Greg and... Blaise," Draco ended in a croon, dangling Blaise's name craftily like a wanton treat. The blond knew that Pansy had always had a soft spot for Blaise. True to the blond's suspicions, Pansy blinked and paused in her rubbing, her ears pricked with interest.

"Oh really. He's back in town?" Pansy asked lightly, the exclamation in her voice camouflaged. But Draco didn't miss the way her eyes lit up like twin beacons, the tell-tale twinkle giving her attentiveness away.

"He's just returned from Italy, having made a proper name for himself as a prominent wine connoisseur. And yes, he's staying for good this time. It's just such a shame that you're probably going back to Tokyo after this," Draco sighed plaintively. He loved spending time with Pansy; her bubbly, lively presence rejuvenated him. She never failed to give him a good laugh whenever he needed it, and Draco just… missed Pansy whenever she wasn't around.

"Well…" Pansy shrugged dismissively, although her lips were curved in a cryptic smile while she flexed her slim fingers like a world-class pianist. "How're things with you? Any new boyfriends about to crawl out of the woodwork, hmmm?" she teased, planting both elbows firmly on the edge of the table and fixing Draco with a searing look.

"Just the… usual," Draco waved his wrist in the air dismissively, but Pansy grinned when his other hand reached up and toyed blankly with his earlobe, a distinguishing motion that Draco made whenever he was hiding something.

"You're lying, Draco darling," she trilled victoriously, pouncing on the blond's weak point with the speed and accuracy of a snake on its prey. Pansy smirked triumphantly in the direction of Draco's wandering fingers.

"Oh, darn," Draco exhaled noisily in annoyance as he immediately folded his arms. "I'm kind of… dating Potter right now," he mumbled, fighting to keep his blush at bay when he heard Pansy's indignant squawks of surprise. He couldn't help the small smile that inadvertently illuminated his face when he simply thought of Harry. Without missing a beat, he quickly outlined their two-month arrangement.

"Potter. _Scarface_. Never in a million years, Draco," Pansy mused, a contemplative thumb grazing her jaw as she thought of the unlikely pairing. But slowly, a naughty, _Pansy_-like sheen seeped into her eyes, and she waited purposefully until Draco took a mouthful of champagne before speaking again, her voice a playful chirp and stewing with mischief.

"How's he like in bed? Big _dick_?"

Draco's eyes instantly went round with consternation, the champagne sluicing down the wrong way. He gasped for breath, and Pansy giggled, leaning over to bash him heartily on the back.

"Have you been listening, _woman_?! There will be no physical intimacy between the two of us, none at all! It's what was agreed on right from the start! " Draco practically hollered when he regained his voice. Pansy, in return, raised her palms innocently.

"Potter's not morphed into a monster throughout the years, hasn't he? He was quite… decent-looking, in a scruffy, _midgety_ sort of way," Pansy wrinkled her nose.

"No, he's become a rather… attractive man, actually," Draco mumbled, averting his eyes from Pansy's inquisitive ones. It was disconcerting how she could read him like an open book.

"Then it doesn't make sense! You're not known for being a prude, honey. It's so obvious that you want to rip his clothes off and bonk his brains out, but yet you're holding yourself back. I don't understand… oh! The only time when you don't want to rush the physical bit is when you think that it's… _special_, isn't it? That it could… last?! It was the same when you were dating Labelle-" Pansy picked up in a heated ramble but stopped short when Draco channeled a formidable glare in her direction. The blond frowned and looked away, out to the mingling crowd beneath them.

As if on cue, his eyes sharpened and he caught a glimpse of Pietro Labelle, working the crowd effortlessly. He was dressed immaculately in a fitting, tailored suit that matched his eyes and skin tone perfectly. A visible jolt rippled through Draco and he gulped.

It wasn't difficult to pick the man out; his hair was blond, almost as platinum blond as Draco's own hair, but slightly darker, like the tempting shade of spun gold. Draco could still remember how Pietro's hair, all silkyhot**sexual**thickwet had felt in his hands when they were in the shower when they were still together, blissful strands of pure golden strands leaking out in between his fingers when he was sucking Draco off- oh _God_- and those memories, each coy lick, each contained moan and strangled groan surfacing forth from the brutal riptide of Draco's long-neglected libido-

Pietro still retained that arrogant swagger that only the truly affluent could accomplish and that superior, know-it-all sneer that even Draco couldn't top. Blue eyes, as sharp as switchblades sought out hesitant grey eyes, and Draco gripped_ it's like he knows I'm looking at him_- the arms of his chair tight. Armed with a dangerous barracuda smile and those iceberg-cold eyes eviscerating Draco into uselessness with every passing second, Pietro inclined his head foxily towards Draco and raised his wine glass in haughty acknowledgment.

"That's enough, Draco," Pansy barked sharply, slamming a palm down on Draco's arm sternly. The blond closed his eyes shakily and scowled darkly, berating himself harshly for that severe lapse of judgment. Labelle and he were done, and there was absolutely no need to open that Pandora's Box of tediousness and tears.

"Is he right for you?" Pansy said quietly. Draco's eyebrows drew dully together before Pansy quickly rephrased her question. "I meant Potter. Not…" she trailed off, jerking her head towards Labelle.

"I don't think it matters right now. It might not work out in the end, you know. It's just… a trial period."

"If you say so," she said uncertainly, then spontaneously perked up and rattled Draco's hand urgently. "Remember that I told you I've got a surprise for you?" With that, Pansy took a deep breath and a dramatic pause, before bursting out shrilly, "I'm moving back to London!"

Draco blinked slowly in disbelief. "W-What? You mean it?! You're not going back to Tokyo?! You're staying?!" To that, Pansy nodded stoutly, her own lips forming a wide grin.

"That's brilliant! That's absolutely brilliant, Pansy!" the blond announced, reaching over suddenly and hugging his oldest friend with all his might. Pansy reciprocated the affection with double the strength, and they pulled away, laughing. But it wasn't long before Pansy's eyes took on a sober gleam.

"A year. That's all it'll take for the both of us to be properly rich. I won't be doing pathetic shows like this anymore, sharing the limelight with two other designers whose collections are practically _rags_ compared to mine," Pansy hissed vindictively as she eyed said two designers narrowly. "I want to have my own show where they'll showcase nothing but my own creations, where all the rich, fat bitches will be clamoring like mad to buy my works of art," Pansy continued, her voice dropping to a poisonous snarl, "And they won't dare to outfit my models in the horrid way that they did tonight, all straps twisted and fabric wrinkled and hair and jewelry all _wrong_.

"And you, Draco darling, you'll take over London, Paris, maybe even more countries by storm. You'll tolerate only the luxury hotels, the boutique hotels where all your guests are going to be pampered and indulged like there's no tomorrow with state of the art equipment and facilities and impeccable service from the staff. It's where everyone who's _anyone_ will go to unwind and relax after counting their millions of Galleons, Draco. It's going to be _fabu_. Don't you think so?"

And in that connection, Draco could see the undiluted hunger that shone in Pansy's sparkling eyes, the trademark thirst of power that befitted every Slytherin. In his mind's eye, he conjured images of outrageous amounts of money _sickles knuts galleons I want it all!_- building up in their own chasmal coffers. Each honey-coated word slithering from Pansy's mouth was like a reachable fantasy, surging and swirling in his stomach like an unquenchable craving.

Because that was what life was about, wasn't it?

If you had money, you had connections. With connections, you had power. And with power…

You could do what_ever_ you wanted.

Say it out loud: money. It might only be a simple word with two syllables, but the effect it had on people was paramount.

You could buy friends, you could buy love, you could buy every single thing. You could make business partners stab each other in the back by simply passing money under the table; you could make even the most faithful wives waver in their stalwart devotion to their husbands when they lost everything eventually. You could bring past enemies down to their knees with power. It was a horrible, churning web of deceit and subterfuge, where lie by destructive lie unwound like tapeworms, where the hottest, most promiscuous wizards and witches blew hot and cold, depending on how Galleons you had to your name.

And Draco loved every single moment of it.

"One year," Draco repeated gravely before the intimidating duo clinked their glasses together, their eyes burning feverishly.

Draco saw in Pansy the equivalent of what he himself wanted out of life, the desire, the all-consuming, almost ridiculous greed to amass accomplishment _because it will never be enough; you've got to be the richest of the rich, the crème de la crème_- and achievement to unbelievable proportions. They were eager with ambitious potential, crowned with the sheer determination and ruthless cunning to reach that ultimate goal.

In short, they were the very embodiment of Slytherins.

_but what happens when you pair up a perfect Slytherin with a perfect Gryffindor-_

* * *

It was nice to see that Harry had tried to spruce the place up a bit.

Draco stepped neatly out from the Floo at the Weasley household, lifting his shoulders marginally to dust remaining Floo powder away. His eye was caught immediately by a vase stuffed full of splendid sunflowers in a brilliant shade of sunshine yellow, their faces turned happily towards the brightly lit windows. The whole house wasn't huge, but it was enough to support a family of four.

A well-used couch lay strategically in the middle of the living room, facing a decently-sized Muggle television. A variety of books and magazines were stacked neatly on the polished coffee table, and Draco curiously inspected it, but was careful not to touch anything. There was a mixture of Quidditch magazines, _Witch Weekly, _past and current publications of_ The Daily Prophet_ and _The Quibbler_. There were also a handful of moderately thick textbooks of Potions and Charms, ranging from intermediate to elementary difficulty which obviously belonged to the two young Weasley kids.

A Muggle laptop perched on its usual spot on another smaller table, and Draco regarded it with narrowed eyes. He wandered further into the house, meticulously disturbing nothing. The blond gave a cursory glance to a clock mounted on the clean light-blue walls, but back-tracked when he noticed something unique about it. The names of all four Weasleys were emblazoned across the hands of the clock. Instead of numbers, there were actually various locations studded along the face of the timepiece, such as 'Work', 'School', 'Grandma Weasley', 'Grandma Granger' and 'Uncle Harry'. It was clearly not a professionally created object, since the words, scrawled in multi-colored crayon were bumpy and messy, as though a young child had written it.

Right now, all four hands were pointed towards 'Fun!!!'

After staring at this rather puzzling contraption for a short moment, Draco shrugged and moved on. The dining table, a short distance away from the kitchen, had five placemats on it instead of four, and Draco suspected that the extra one was for Harry. A little bit further from the dining area stood a majestic and lovingly polished piano, its mantle crowded with snapshots of the Weasley family. His attention stirred, Draco silently walked towards the instrument and gazed at the photos.

There were pictures of Weasley and Granger's wedding and honeymoon. Hermione was resplendent in a long, frilly, snow-white wedding gown, topped off with a sparkling tiara on her head. Beside her, Ron, looking rather smart himself in his tux, had his arm wrapped tenderly around his bride. They were surrounded by flowers of all shapes, colors and sizes, each petal and stem fit for a fairy tale. Hermione alternated between looking down shyly at the bouquet in her hands and smiling up at her husband in the moving photograph.

There were photos of birthdays, of family gatherings, of more weddings, anniversaries, _more_ birthdays and every little thing Draco could think of. Each Weasley child was paired with their significant other and their children, and Draco was rather shocked to see a group photo of the whole Weasley clan, all _twenty-two_ of them. Harry featured very regularly in the pictures, and he looked right at home with the rest of the redheads.

The doors of all the rooms were closed, and Draco knew that he wasn't allowed to enter. However, Draco couldn't help but smile when he spied a neglected soft toy abandoned sadly on the floor. Draco picked it up and turned it over in his hands, his brow crumpling questioningly when he noticed the name 'Pooh' embellished on the yellow bear. He snorted derisively. Who would name a bear _Pooh_, for Merlin's sake?

Despite himself, Draco cooed softly and gave Pooh's squishy paw one last squeeze before placing it on the piano chair.

"Hey there."

Draco turned so fast he almost lost his balance. Making sure that he was hiding the bear from view _playing with toys, Draco, how childish can you get?!_-, the blond gave Harry a small smile and strolled towards him.

Harry was leaning casually against the entrance of the kitchen, his ankles and arms crossed nonchalantly. His own caramel-sweet smile surfacing on his lips, Harry motioned for Draco to follow him.

Draco paused, hesitance creeping up within him.

"We're not cooking, are we? For your information, Malfoys don't _cook_," Draco called out, poking his head unceremoniously into the kitchen. He lowered his eyes to the clean kitchen floor, looking at it as though it was a deadly minefield. He then eyed the big hunk of metal that was a Muggle refrigerator and some funny-looking kitchen apparatus. Scattered on the counter was flour and eggs and trays and-

Ooh, _chocolate_.

Keeping his tendency to drool whenever he came across chocolate in check, Draco wrinkled his nose and stepped over the threshold to the kitchen. Harry was whistling a jaunty tune while he washed a mixing bowl before toweling it dry.

"We're _baking_, Potter? How… quaint. Where's everyone?" Draco asked as an afterthought, his arms folded in a show of reserve.

"They're off at the zoo. I've got to use Hermione's kitchen 'cos I don't have all this stuff at home. Rather new equipment, actually," Harry shot Draco a crooked grin and gestured to the rather… television-like thing beside Draco. "And baking's different from cooking to me, so I've got my bases all covered."

Upon seeing the incredulous expression on Draco's face, Harry quickly tried to pacify the other man. "It's dead easy. It's just mixing of all the ingredients and bashing them in the oven over there. And the end product is brilliant, trust me," the brunette soothed, winking cheekily at Draco.

"But that's so… plebeian, so commonplace! We could just go down to the shops and get some muffins or cookies, if that's what you're after!" Draco protested hotly, warily eyeing the cookie tray that Harry plonked down on the table.

"Scared, Malfoy?" Harry said sweetly, a hint of an oh-so-familiar taunt underlying his words. And just like that, Draco could feel the volatility and turbulence of their initial enmity materializing, the childish need to be_ better_ than the other-

"You wish," Draco shot back in return, his teeth clenched. He hurried over to the sink, rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands in a flurry, all the while mumbling darkly to himself. Behind him, Harry grinned secretly and silently punched the air victoriously.

_Yay, result!_

When Draco stormed over to Harry's side, the ex-Gryffindor placated Draco with a light pat on the bum, leading to Draco pushing his hand away, but no one could miss the hot blush spreading over his alabaster cheeks.

Harry placed the mixing bowl and eggs in front of Draco and instructed him to crack the eggs.

Draco replied by fixing Harry with an expectant look.

Harry further responded by widening his eyes slightly and tilting his head, indicating the eggs with a meaningful look.

"Don't look at me like I'm some _dimwit_, Potter! I know what you mean, but where's the egg-cracker? There's got to be some egg-cracker, isn't there?! If not the shells will get in the mixture, no?"

Disbelievingly, Harry reached over, grabbed the egg, whacked it inelegantly over the rim of the bowl and cracked it open in a fluid motion. He repeated it for all the eggs, tossed the egg shells in the bin and wiped his hands on the cloth, his features alight with amazement the whole time. The superior look on Draco's face wilted when he peered down at the eggs and failed to see any pieces of egg shell, no matter how miniscule, at all.

"You haven't done anything like this before?"

"This is the first bloody time I've stepped into a kitchen, for sod's sake! All the cooking was done by the house elves when I was still living in the manor, and I don't have my own kitchen at home!" Draco flared up, hating the inferior way this revelation made him seem like a cosseted and spoilt boy.

"Hey, it's fine. We'll do it slowly. No worries," Harry quickly assuaged, gesturing to the various ingredients that were already weighed. "You just have to add and mix them, that's all."

"That sounds easy enough," Draco conceded, but his words hitched into a gasp when Harry stepped up behind him, his body a bit too close for comfort.

"Maybe I'd better… move closer, just in case," the brunette whispered mischievously.

Draco was about to retort that Harry didn't really need to practically _hump_ him to give him _verbal_ instructions, and that Draco could bloody well hear him if Harry stood all the way out in the _sodding_ living room, but his voice caught in his throat when Harry let his hands slide smoothly down the curves of Draco's body before resting placidly on his bony hips. Draco froze, his hands gripping the edges of the mixing bowl so hard that his knuckles went white. The blond's heart was like a delirious creature running when grey eyes gazed up uncertainly in Harry's eyes. When he saw a seductive glitter of jade captured between Harry's lashes, Draco quickly looked back down at the mixing bowl, astonished at how darn hot this was-

_No, Draco, you cannot fan yourself!_

Harry shifted closer until the slopes of his marvelously chiseled chest were pressed flush against Draco's back, and Draco felt his blood pressure jump by fits and starts, his pulse speeding up from normal to erratic. Harry's sheer aggressiveness was turning Draco on, and it suddenly dawned on Draco that the both of them were completely alone, _ooh_-

"Sugar," Harry murmured.

What? Was that some sort of pet name that Harry came up with? Oh no, there definitely wouldn't be any _sugar _or _babycakes _or _cupcake_ at this stage, if Harry thought that that was fine with Draco, he had another think coming, that randy little _monster_-

"Add the sugar, Draco," Harry repeated with a slightly confused expression on his face.

His face flaming, the blond swiftly and gracelessly dumped the sugar in the bowl and mashed it into the eggs rather violently. Draco was glad that he had something to distract him from the close proximity of Harry's body.

"It gets pretty easy when you've done it a few times. Combine everything, shape it into cookies and then bake it. It's basically all the same stuff. It's like dating, actually. After you've held hands, it's only natural to want to… hug, isn't it? And what happens after hugging?" Harry murmured naughtily, his eyes hungry and hot as he trained a sexually potent gaze onto Draco that was so hot and lingering that it was a wonder that Harry's glasses didn't spontaneously combust. They were breathing in shallow, furious synchronization, and it was like the very air around them was waiting with bated breath for Draco's answer.

"After hugging comes… kissing," Draco faltered, biting back a moan when he felt Harry wrap his arms possessively around his waist. It was a whole new state of consciousness, the way his entire body went all warm, liquid and incompetent under that simple touch, the way desire scythed frantically across his skin, the way it was as though his body was swaddled in liquid electricity, complete with sparks and flickers firing in his nerve endings, this was _insane_, this was going to drive him crazy-

"Kissing, eh?" Harry echoed impudently, leaning in further _'cause you want my kiss all over your lips_-

Draco's scent was like a silken breeze to Harry, sweeter than any pastry that Harry had ever smelt. But he didn't like how skinny Draco was; he could feel Draco's sharp shoulder blades digging into his own chest, he could feel the ex-Slytherin's ribs easily under his palms as he swept his hands up and down Draco's waist.

The brunette gently tipped Draco's head back, exposing his pale throat. Grazing his lips breezily across the side of Draco's neck, Harry smiled against alabaster skin when Draco let out a purr as delicious and luscious like gooey, indulgent chocolate drizzled over cream. But that purr was more than enough to wake Draco up from his lust-addled condition. Draco's half-lidded grey eyes were glittering oddly, his lips pulled rigidly into a clipped line while he tried to erase the light-hued blush that crested tellingly on the tops of his cheekbones.

It only took mere seconds for Draco to wriggle out of Harry's grasp.

When Harry reluctantly let go of Draco, it was as though all of his nerve endings heaved their shoulders and sighed in disappointment.

"I need to… wash my hands," Draco blurted, but Harry could see that the other man's hands were only dusted with slivers of flour. Scratching his head, Harry wondered whether he had crossed the line. _No physical intimacy. That wasn't very… intimate, wasn't it?_

"Let's finish it up, shall we? And you can stand _here_," Draco said pointedly, indicating a distance that was civilly comfortable. A merest shadow of a smile flitted on Draco's lips, softening the rejection of before.

And so, they spent the next fifteen minutes finishing up the cookies with no sexy distractions whatsoever. Draco smacked Harry admonishingly on the wrist when Harry tried to sneak bites of cookie dough. In return, Harry smeared melted chocolate on Draco's cheeks. Draco, his features in a pretense of mock anger, flung handfuls of flour towards Harry and ended up in bouts of giggles when Harry's black hair was sprinkled liberally with a shower of flour.

When they were done, Harry made an apprehensive Draco _"what if it eats my hand?!"_ put the tray in the oven. But it wasn't long before Draco, having squealed and scampered behind Harry when the oven made a series of unnatural whirring noises, popped his head out from behind Harry's shoulder and tiptoed cautiously to the machine.

"The color's changing!" Draco said, awe-struck when he moved closer to the oven. "And it smells so good!" The blond's face was just inches away from the screen of the oven, and Harry smiled fondly at a surprisingly child-like Draco before taking his hand and tugging him away.

"Don't go too near."

"What? Why? It seems fine, doesn't it? Unless it… explodes? Has it exploded before, Harry? I bet it has, hasn't it?!" Draco squeaked, his voice escalating with every worry. With that, Draco darted back and took cover behind Harry.

"Merlin, going out with you is like some life-threatening adventure. Death by ice-skating and exploding ovens," Draco quipped, his grey eyes round with faint alarm as he peeked out guardedly from the spaces between his fingers.

"Keeps things interesting, doesn't it?" Harry turned and shot Draco a flirtatious wink before trotting off towards Hermione's fridge.

The blond followed, his head cocked in curiosity. When Harry stretched his head and arms into the cavernous depths of the fridge, Draco inhaled sharply when he noticed how much space the fridge had.

"Yep, the fridge's been tampered with. Mr. Weasley managed to increase the capacity of it by magic. It's kinda like the tents at the Quidditch World Cup," Harry explained, his voice muffled as he rifled through the contents of the fridge.

"Hermione needs the space, what with Ron to feed and everything," Harry laughed, but Draco was too busy scoping out Harry's fit body _updownsideways_**everywhere**. The ex-Gryffindor's shoulders slid and puckered fluidly underneath his shirt while he shifted lamb chops and chicken breasts here and there. The pair of Levis clung and hugged the brunette's bum and thighs wonderfully. Draco licked his lips lasciviously, feeling the _lustwant_**need** and everything in between surging in him like a high-speed elevator-

"Found it!" Harry announced grandly as he brandished a tub of ice-cream triumphantly.

Even before Harry could set it out on the dining table, Draco grabbed the ice-cream from him and read the label, an eyebrow raised.

"Ben & Jerry's: Strawberry Cheesecake. What's so special about it? It's just… ice-cream," Draco scoffed, turning his nose up at the Muggle brand.

"Famous last words," Harry grinned affably, brushing the dig off. "The cookies are almost done, so I'll just scoop the ice-cream out first. And you, my doubting Thomas, will get first taste," the brunette said, pointing at Draco with a spoon. With that, Harry began to gouge out great spoonfuls of the frozen treat. Normally, Draco would probably have protested at the huge quantity, but the blond was transfixed by the sinewy muscles that shifted underneath Harry's arms as he burrowed the spoon into the ice-cream.

An unruly lock of black hair flipped across one eye and his tongue stuck out between his teeth in concentration. Harry's left hand gripped the carton of ice-cream, while the other held tightly onto the spoon. Draco, pretending to rub his eyes, furtively gazed at the veins that jutted beneath Harry's bronzed skin. He noticed that Harry was giving him all the chunky and best bits and keeping the rest of the un-chunky ice-cream for himself.

_Strong, thoughtful, and sexy as hell_, Draco summarized, resisting the urge to sigh dreamily and check out every hot, supple inch of Harry blatantly with his greedy eyes. When Harry was done, he nudged the bowl towards Draco, and it was only then that the blond registered the ragged mountain of ice-cream in front of him.

"It's too much, I can't finish all of this-"

"We're sharing, don't worry," Harry replied from the kitchen. Draco heard the loud click of the refrigerator door and the metallic beep from the oven. Draco winced when he saw the small, sticky pool of melting ice-cream. He remembered how ice-cream had been one of his favorite desserts when he had been young, but it had been so long ever since he had dared to wallow in such a… debauched confectionery.

Harry unloaded the cookies onto a cooling tray, and Draco felt himself go a bit light-headed at the divine scent that practically beckoned him to reach a hand out and take a bite. Pushing that stray thought away, Draco bit his lip hesitantly, his hand still maintaining a rigor mortis grip _it's all junk food, nothing but junk food-_ on the spoon and his eyes cloudy with trepidation.

But when Harry broke up two of the biggest cookies into pieces and dunked them happily in the waiting ice-cream, Draco could feel his ill-placed resolve softening like butter in the sun and the voice of reason slowly fading away into oblivion. It was a morsel of smooth, mouth-watering decadence, and Draco moaned when he swallowed the irresistible combination of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry.

It was a completely new sound that Draco made, a cross between a moan and a sigh that hinted dangerous levels of bliss, and Harry had to surreptitiously adjust the front of his jeans when he stared unabashedly at Draco's facial expression. His brow was furrowed and his grey eyes were closed in sheer ecstasy. His tongue, positively teeming with innuendo, was furiously licking the delicate arc of his own lips to capture every droplet of liquid ice-cream. And it didn't help that it was vanilla, which looked like-

"I think I just saw your orgasm face," Harry breathed, his eyes still shamelessly fondling every crevice and curve of Draco's features. The blond's eyes immediately snapped open, the expression of sublime happiness that was initially poised on his face evaporating.

"How would you know? You've never seen me have an orgasm before," Draco said lightly, his voice tinged with a smattering of humor.

"I can give you one now if you'd like-" Harry suggested slyly, but was instantly silenced when Draco placed a finger on Harry's lips, an eyebrow raised chidingly. Not to be discouraged, Harry flagrantly dragged the very tip of his tongue up the length of Draco's finger. He tasted like powdered sugar, sweetening his lips, but before Harry could go for another lick, Draco, who had suddenly gone all pink, quickly withdrawn his hand.

"What've you got next? A Muggle movie?" Draco said, firmly reining the conversation in to safer waters. The two proper dates that they had gone through were simply so… impossible and unexpected. If someone had told Draco that he would enjoy doing such mundane, corny things like baking and picnicking, things which Muggle couples did, Draco would have sneered jeeringly. But the bottom line was that Harry had taken a risk, and Draco found himself actually… enjoying the refreshing nature of each date.

"No, that's not part of the agenda. But well, it's my birthday next Friday, and I think the boys are planning something for me. They refuse to tell me anything, but it'll be brilliant if you're there on my birthday," Harry said hopefully in between munches, already polishing off his third cookie.

Draco paused, his features hardening into a small frown. He only knew a handful of Harry's friends, and he wasn't exactly on first-name basis with them.

"I'll think about it," Draco remarked blandly, giving a non-committal shrug.

* * *

"This is for you," Harry said rather shyly after shooting off to the kitchen and rushing back to the Weasley Floo before Draco returned home. In his hands was a basket with a whole smorgasbord of treats ranging from blueberry muffins and stacks of jam drops to the fresh batch of cookies that the both of them had prepared that day.

Draco's knee-jerk reaction was to refuse it and say that he had eaten more than enough food for today, but his words dried up in shock when he realized how much work Harry had put in. There was a beautiful yellow silk bow and a puff of white ribbon fixed at the top of the handle that arced gracefully over the wicker basket, along with twined tendrils of petals cobbled together that trailed down the sides of the handle. There were bright yellow daisies that reminded Draco of little sunshine rays, together with morning glories the lush purple of aubergines.

Tiny edible flowers the vivacious colors of peony-pink and lavender festooned the base of the basket. Placed carefully on the brownies and muffins were wafer-thin milk chocolate butterflies with skilful drips and dabs of white chocolate on their wings to create a lovely pattern.

It was a beautiful arrangement, there was no doubt about it, but to Draco it was a crowded decoration with absolutely no style. It had some semblance of organization, but only if you squinted really _really_ closely.

Draco moved his gaze upwards and caught sight of the brunette worrying his lip nervously and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose clumsily. There was still flour caught in his scruffy hair and the sides of his neck.

Yes, the decoration was messy, tasteless and garish, but it was so adorable and so very… _Harry_, Draco thought, smiling inwardly.

"Harry, it's a wonderful gift, but I can't finish all of this. It's too much for me," Draco said softly, hating the guilt he felt when he pushed the basket back towards Harry. The brunette's face fell and he looked down at his shoes, crestfallen.

"Share it with Millicent! I've put a Preservation Charm on it; it'll stay fresh for two weeks. You could put it in the office and snack on it when you're hungry-"

"Harry, please-"

"I've seen how you don't eat whenever you go out with me. I don't know why, and whenever I try to ask you about it you simply change the topic. You barely touched the cookies just now, even though it was so obvious that you liked chocolate!

"Maybe… maybe you've got your own reasons, and I really don't want to pry. I don't need to ask to know that you probably don't eat much too when you're working. I can't do much short of dragging you out of the office and forcing you to go to lunch with me, and I think you wouldn't want that. It'll make me feel better if I know that there's food within easy reach, so you don't have to go hungry," Harry explained agitatedly, running a hand uncontrollably through his hair.

"Draco, let me… let me take care of you, please?" His voice lowered to a beseeching implore, Harry extended the basket towards Draco again.

The blond hesitated, marveling at how devoted and earnest Harry was. Having the cookies would be like having a secret delight that would be with him the whole week long-

_Let me take care of you, please?_

"I- Alright," Draco acquiesced, bowing his head demurely. He was smiling so hard _so this is… this is how it feels when someone cares about you, it feels… brilliant_- that he felt the lower half of his face might simply drop off. This slow, intense romance, this snowball of affection blossoming up between them was almost too good to be true. There was this… lust that was like a panther, stalking them _blink and you'll miss it_- stealthily. Yet, at times, it morphed into something bigger, something _better_ that swamped them in an uncontrollable wave, making Draco lose hold of his inhibitions-

When Draco reached over to take the basket from Harry, the brunette smiled genially, a beatific smile of happiness adorning his mouth. Green and grey melded from the heat of their shared gaze, and Draco took a step closer to the other man.

"Harry, I… don't know whatever it is that we've got between us… but I… I like it," Draco whispered bashfully, his pale cheeks infused with a soft rosy tinge.

With that, Harry gently brought Draco's wrist up to his lips and planted a kiss on the back of his hand before replying quietly.

"Me too, Draco, me too."

* * *

**/tbc**

Pat yourself on the back because you've just endured the most boring chapters of _Flirt_. Things are going to be moving a lot faster from Chapter Five onwards, meaning that chapters will get longer (I don't know whether that's a good or bad thing to you guys). /grin

For starters, Harry and Draco seem to be a bit too happy for my liking.

Looks like it's about time to mess things up.

Please do review!


	5. Rogue

**Flirt by xErised **

**Rogue**

Hugo and Rose Weasley, with their ages slightly changed, make their debut here.

Need I say more?

* * *

It was a bright and breezy Sunday afternoon with the sunlight streaming brilliantly through the windows and the birds chirping oh-so-melodically and bloody Salazar in _hell _was that another owl already?!

Storming over to the window of his study, Draco yanked the latch open, grabbed the squawking owl by the scruff of its neck and tugged roughly at the couriered file held from its beak. The blond swore viciously when the bird nipped him painfully on the finger. Without even looking at the identity of the sender, Draco flung the owl out of his window and drew the curtains this time for good measure.

Normally Draco would have been blazing through the staggering pyramid of documents like it was child's play, only needing to spend half an hour, at the very most, to digest and fire off a suitable response to the most wordy and tedious proposal.

But this was seriously getting out of hand.

And who did Draco blame it on?

Stupid, _stupid_ Potter, of course.

If Harry didn't bother coming into his life again in such an abrupt and blatant manner, he wouldn't even be faced with this lack of concentration! Hanging his head in frustration, Draco shuffled over to his table and slumped into his seat. He shook his head resolutely and steeled himself. Here he was, having spent the last hour with his head in the clouds and his thoughts ricocheting in… _utterly _inappropriate directions when Draco had very _very_ important work that demanded his immediate attention, and now was not the time to waste any more thoughts on Potter!

It's all Potter's fault, Draco practically snarled while he whipped out a fresh piece of parchment and stabbed his quill into his ink-well. It was all Potter's fault for being so… good-looking and sexy and funny and attractive and charming and sexy _oops, did I say sexy already_-

And with the thought of a very sexy Harry lodged in his head, Draco giggled and sighed blissfully as he melted into a puddle of hot goo on the floor.

_"I think I just saw your orgasm face-"_

_Ooh, you can give me an orgasm any time you want_, Draco purred kittenishly in his head. With that, Draco gazed down dreamily at the parchment and realized that he had unknowingly doodled Harry's name all over.

It was as though someone had hurled ice-cold water in his face.

Letting out a dramatic high-pitched squeal, Draco quickly balled the poor, innocent piece of parchment up and tossed it murderously to the other end of the room, where it joined the other dozens of crumpled sheets of parchment lying sadly on the floor.

This would _not_ do.

Admitting his defeat, Draco grabbed his coat and slung it over his shoulders. There was no way that he could start work like that, and the only solution that the blond could think of was to catch a glimpse of Harry. Just a really quick Floo to Harry's place and then you know, some easygoing, light chit-chat of the week's events to quell his thirst for the brunette, and absolutely _no_ grabbing of Harry's arse, Draco!

_Hope he didn't put any of those Floo alarms_, Draco fretted as he marched to the Floo in his apartment. Within seconds, he was at Harry's home, biting his lip tentatively as he called out the ex-Gryffindor's name. Draco knew he was being terribly disrespectful here, barging into someone's house without prior notice, but-

His heart sank like a stone when he realized that Harry wasn't home.

_Try the Weasleys'_, a small voice in Draco's head piped up, but the blond immediately squashed that idea down. His pride and aloofness was already disintegrating piece by shameful piece by simply Flooing over to Harry's place, and things would only be exacerbated if he actually went over to the Weasleys'! No, he had had enough of this frivolity. He was going to go back home, finish up his ever-increasing pile of work and then spend the rest of the day thinking _more like fantasizing_- about Harry-

Within ten seconds, a furiously blushing Draco found himself in the fireplace at the Weasleys'.

"Mom? Uncle Harry and Hugo's making a truckload of noise-" Rose Weasley started, but her sentence escalated into a yelp when she looked up from her textbook to see a stranger in her house.

The girl immediately jack-knifed to a sitting position on the sofa and snatched her wand up in a fluid motion. Although her clear blue eyes were fierce, the slight tremor in her hand gave her away. It was obvious that Rose had inherited her physical traits from her father, except for the nature of her hair; corkscrew, frizzy ringlets of dense red curls bounced slightly as she approached Draco guardedly, the tip of her wand pointed directly at the blond's neck.

"Who are you and what are you doing here? I'm not alone, so don't you dare try anything funny," Rose growled, throwing her shoulders back and straightening her spine, her wary eyes fixing Draco head-on with a level glare. The ex-Slytherin knew that this was a tactic to make herself seem physically bigger and thus more intimidating.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, and I'm just looking for Harry," Draco explained hastily, his arms raised and palms facing Rose to show that he meant no threat. Even with that, Rose studied Draco narrowly with a penetrating gaze for a few moments before deigning to lower her wand and smiling slightly.

"So you're the guy that my mom punched during her third year of Hogwarts?"

…

Was this some sort of legendary tale that was going to be passed down from generation to generation of Weasleys?! Would Draco never be able to lift his head high up again whenever the tricky issue of The Punch was brought up?! Do they laugh and mock Draco across the dinner table, that little story purely meant for comic value?!

"Hey, there's no need to look so embarrassed. Dad brings it up only when Uncle Harry goes on and on about you like you're Merlin's gift from Heaven, that sort of thing," Rose grinned and returned her wand to the table.

"Does Harry, by any chance, _lecture_ your father whenever he mentions it?" Draco asked casually, feeling rather eager to know the answer. Does Harry show his faithful devotion and affection and play the part of the perfect gentleman to defend Draco's honor by punching that Weasley squarely in the nose?!

"Nah, Uncle Harry laughs about it along with the rest of us, actually."

…

So much for being gentlemanly, Draco scoffed inwardly and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Sorry if I was a bit scary just now. Mom warned us about a frequent spate of robberies in the area, so I had to be more cautious," Rose winced and shrugged her shoulders apologetically, packing up her textbooks and studying paraphernalia.

_Oh, great. Now I'm being told that I look like a bloody mugger, and add that along with The Punch, I'm practically a laughing stock!_

"Mom's told Uncle Harry about the burglaries and to be extra attentive these days, but does he listen?! _Nooooooo_ he doesn't! Merlin, if you were actually a robber, I could be dead right now and he wouldn't even know! Off playing with Hugo all the time, blasting music so loud, completely oblivious of the fact that I've got an important Charms test tomorrow that I simply have _got_ to get a perfect score on it if I want to maintain my grades," Rose rambled darkly, cursing suddenly when a stack of notes fell from her arms.

Draco bent down and retrieved it for her, his sharp eyes instantly noticing the scrupulously neat handwriting, complete with perfectly dotted i's and crossed t's. Some sentences and key words were circled, along with colorful little tags that stuck out from between the well-thumbed pages. Draco could infer that Rose took after her mother very much in terms of studying habits.

Rose thanked Draco politely before she disappeared momentarily into her room to dump her things on her study table. After that, the redhead crossed over to the room beside hers and smirked in front of the slightly ajar door.

"May I now present to you the magnificent dancing duo of Harry Potter and Hugo Weasley!" Rose trilled softly and opened the door with a flourish.

Draco's eyes widened in wonder and he clamped his hands against his mouth, stifling his bubble of laughter. Beside him, Rose's lips quirked up in a sly grin, knowing that she definitely was going to get an earful from Harry for releasing this unglamorous sight of him to his dear beloved.

But it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

"I LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT, YOU LIKE TO-" Harry bellowed mightily, thrashing his arms inelegantly like a crazed ape. His eyes shut tight, the brunette shook disconcertingly from side to side and whooped maniacally. He struck a manly pose before letting Hugo take over.

"MOVE IT!" the young boy hollered zealously, his short chubby legs kicking delightfully up in the air and his tiny hands gripping fistfuls of Harry's hair. Hugo's small body swayed as he perched on top of Harry's shoulders and flashed a gooey grin. Harry held onto Hugo's feet, tickling the little rolls of fat on his ankles, causing Hugo to giggle. Their backs were facing the door, so when Harry heard Draco's voice, he was so shocked that he almost dropped Hugo.

"Well, well, Harry. Rather decent attempt, but I doubt you'll be winning any dance competitions in the near future," the blond drawled smoothly, his arms crossed and his slim build leaning against the wall. Harry was immediately enveloped in a full-body blush _oh God, how much did he see_- and he shot a wounded glare in the direction of a snickering Rose.

"Think about it in this way, Uncle Harry. You did a real good job of entertaining our guest," Rose joked.

"W-Who's that?" Hugo piped up timidly from his position behind Harry's legs, his fingers holding tightly onto the backs of Harry's bare knees. Hugo's hair wasn't as red as his sister's, having a coppery-brown hue to it, reminiscent of Hermione. But a light smattering of freckles adorned his cheeks, which were flushed red from the excitement and activity earlier.

"That's Mister Draco Malfoy," Rose said before going over and swooping her gurgling younger brother up in her arms.

"Mister Draco Malfoy?! The man that Mommy punched when-"

"Yes we went over that a few minutes ago," Rose hurriedly interrupted in a rush, noting the thunderous expression on Draco's face.

"And you're the one that Uncle Harry likes so much! Isn't he, Rosie?!" Hugo clapped his hands, his face erupting into an electric smile. "Uncle Harry talks so much about you!"

"I don't talk about him that much," Harry protested meekly. A triumphant smirk was splashed across Draco's face, and he licked his lips unconsciously while his hungry grey eyes clocked every delicious detail of Harry's body. Rose smiled, one side of her mouth hiking up in an upwards arch as she wagged a finger admonishingly. Hugo looked at his sister and promptly followed suit, shaking his own finger at Harry.

"You moon and simper over him all the time, Uncle Harry!"

"Do _not_!" Harry flailed, but his denials faltered when both Weasleys stared at him owlishly like a pair of professors.

"I mean, maybe, you know, just a bit. A little bit, only, mind you!" Harry conceded eventually, his face having gone all pink. Draco, on the other hand, was gaping openly at Harry's chest, which was clad in a thin white shirt.

_Sweet Salazar, were those his… nipples?!_

Draco tried to rein in his imagination that was running wild and turning inside out. The blond quickly averted his gaze and gulped, choosing to stare steadfastly at the floor instead, trying as hard as he could to rearrange his thoughts in a way that didn't involve Harry _without _his clothes.

"I'll see you outside, Draco? Please do make yourself comfortable. Need to sort these two out first," Harry said as he reached over and pinched both Rose and Hugo's cheeks affectionately.

The blond nodded and wandered outside aimlessly. He found himself back in the hall and looking at the clock that attracted his attention last week. This time, the arrows of Hugo and Rose were pointed towards 'Home', while Ron and Hermione's were indicating 'Fun!!!'. _Should be out on a date_, Draco surmised, his eyebrows raised speculatively.

Draco hesitated for a bit before settling himself stiffly on the very edge of the couch, his knees jammed uncomfortably together. The blond frowned when he saw a sheet of parchment lying discarded below the table. It appeared to be one of Rose's notes. Leaning his elbow on one of the cushions, Draco was reaching over to pick the paper up for her-

And then he heard a very ominous-sounding _crack_.

Draco closed one eye and slowly peeked under the cushion, suspicious of what he'd find underneath. _If it's anything expensive, I can probably buy a new one-_

He fished out a soft toy in the shape of a little yellow mouse with two pointy black ears and a pair of obscenely red cheeks, along with a frizzy, lightning-shaped tail. It had obviously been bought a long time ago, judging by the tail that was twisted until it was out of shape and the little bite marks on its ears. A tiny stretch of the seams were coming apart, and Draco could see clumps of stuffing leaking out.

His lower lip curled in disgust, Draco held as little of the toy as he could with his thumb and his forefinger gingerly, wondering what on earth could have created the cracking sound, and hoping that he could rectify it before anyone discovered.

But it was too late; Draco already heard light, skipping footsteps and childish laughter coming from the hallway.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Draco. I think we can-" Harry started, then stopped short when he saw what Draco was holding. Hugo jumped and zoomed merrily towards the astonished blond.

"Pikachu! You found my Pikachu! I was wondering whether it had gone to! You're brilliant, Mister Malfoy!" Hugo cheered loudly and cuddled his precious toy to his face. With that, the little boy beamed happily and poked the mouse in the stomach with his thumb, waiting expectantly for something.

Nothing happened.

A droplet of sweat trickled down the side of Draco's face.

A little scowl marring his angelic face, Hugo impatiently prodded the toy again with more force. This time, the Pokemon dutifully croaked out a distorted warbling sound, before emitting a horrendous screeching shriek that sounded like a chicken being slaughtered.

"Mister Malfoy, did you… did you spoil it?" Hugo whispered in shock, his voice and his lower lip trembling.

"I didn't mean to! I didn't see it!" Draco demurred, shaking his head and his hands wildly.

"Just b-because my mommy p-punched you-"

_Oh for Merlin's bloody, sodding sake!_

"I'll buy you a new one! It's so old and ratty anyway!" Draco said out loud without thinking, then immediately wished that he could take it back when he saw Hugo's aghast expression.

"I-It's not old! I-It's m-my toy and I love it! I-I thought you were nice, Mister Malfoy! I d-don't want my Uncle Harry going out with you anymore!" Hugo wailed, his starfish fingers still clutching at poor Pikachu.

A horrified Draco surreptitiously inched away.

Hugo's shoulders were shaking with increasing dismay, and his huge, baby seal eyes were becoming rounder and rounder and his breaths were becoming shorter and faster and his lips were quivering more and more with each passing second and like a volcano having the biggest explosion of all time, an utterly distraught Hugo Weasley swallowed a humungous gulp of air before promptly bursting into a roaring fountain of tears.

...

Holy _shit_.

Draco's eyes immediately latched onto Harry, pleading eloquently for rescue, but to his chagrin, Harry was nowhere to be seen. Only Rose remained, and she quickly rushed to Hugo, rubbing her brother's back soothingly. And the bloody boy was practically screaming in his face, that _brat_-

And where was his alleged knight in shining armor? How could Harry abandon him at this time of need, at this period of dire straits?! Probably ran off with no idea what to do, that good-for-nothing, Draco fumed silently. But before Draco could finish his internal tirade, Harry tore into the scene, armed with a pair of grape-flavored ice lollies, Hugo's favorite. Rose straightaway took the hint and accepted the lollies, thrusting one into Hugo's face and leading him gently away. True to his word, Harry heaved a sigh of relief when Hugo's ear-shattering sobs abated.

"What's his problem?!" Draco yelped, gesturing indignantly to Hugo's retreating back.

"Don't tell me you didn't have a soft toy when you were young too, Draco," Harry smiled and said calmly, an amused glint shining in his eyes when Draco fidgeted and looked away uneasily.

_Hmmm, there's something off here…_

"It's not as though I mentally scarred him for life," Draco huffed, glowering, but his features gradually softened. "Please convey my apologies to Granger and Weasley. I really didn't mean to spoil it. It was an accident, really. I'll get a new one for him-"

"Hey, it's alright. He'll recover easily. Don't worry about it, okay?" Harry said softly, squeezing Draco's arm tenderly and dropping a lovely kiss on the back of his hand. The blond stiffened, his eyes slowly moving up to meet Harry's. The air was thrumming sweetly with a low voltage fizzing sensation, and a shimmer of anticipation rippled addictively through Draco's body. He tried to still the tumult and chaos of sexual desire raging in his brain, but it simply refused to settle. Harry was giving him that potent gaze again, and the blond was losing himself in the dark, lush languor of the brunette's eyes, this shudder of longing reverberating all the way down to the hollows of his stomach-

"So what can I do for you?" Harry murmured, a fingernail drawing tiny little circles on Draco's wrist.

_Have sex with me._

…

_What?! No, Draco, nooooooo!_

"Why are you dressed like this?" Draco blurted out unwittingly, dislodging his hand from Harry's grip and shifting away slightly.

Harry looked down at his attire and gestured to his shirt and shorts. "When I'm out with you, I tend to take more time to dress up. But when I'm at home or here, I don't really pay much attention to what I wear. I'm not a huge fan of ironed pants and collared shirts, frankly."

"Oh…" Draco's sentence petered out, and he suddenly felt like a schoolboy that had messed up his lines on stage. "I'm here because… um…" _Think, Draco, think! What's been happening recently? _"About your birthday! Yeah, you didn't give me any details!" Draco finished with satisfaction, glad that he had come up with a decent excuse in the nick of time.

"Next Friday," Harry rattled off the address of the bar where the party was being held. "Does this mean that you'll be there?" the ex-Gryffindor said, pleased.

"I'll have to check my schedule, but I think I can make it. Harry, I…I won't know anyone there. Wouldn't you rather… go out with me separately on another day instead?" Draco proposed, a confused whirlwind of emotions bombarding him. Half of him really wanted to be there with Harry, because he felt that it was rather selfish to make Harry choose between him and his friends, but the other part of him savored the cherished, uncomplicated warmth _he's mine and I don't want to share_- and intimacy that both men experienced.

"Then it won't be on my birthday, silly. How about this? You can come by later, I'll think of some excuse to leave early, and we can go out after that, just the two of us. Will that be better?"

"Yes, it would," Draco smiled at Harry, feeling a fluttery fairground feeling _he's willing to… leave early because of… me_- in his bones.

"And if you're wondering, I miss you too," Harry leaned forward, a cheeky whiplash grin on his face. His voice had dropped and turned smoky and deep with lust as the brunette moved closer, holding both of Draco's hands in his own.

"W-Who said that I missed you," Draco muttered, breaking up into slivers of shyness and awkwardness at being found out. His pale cheeks were touched slightly by scarlet and the blond looked at their entwined hands.

"I know we haven't been going out for a long time, but I definitely know that if you really wanted to settle such a trivial matter such as the next time that we're meeting, you would have owled me instead of dropping by yourself. That's why I know that you miss me, and I'm going to tell you again that I really, really miss you too," Harry repeated quietly, lacing his fingers around Draco's palms protectively.

_Just the two of us._

With those words ringing pleasantly in his heart, Draco carefully reached up, pulled Harry closer and wrapped his arms around his neck.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Stupid, _stupid_ Potter.

* * *

The blond stared incredulously at him.

"Not going to invite me in?" Harry said, throwing in one of his trademark winks.

"How did you get in?! And why are you here?! It's only Monday today!" Draco squawked, thinking that he sounded slightly hysterical. Merlin, was his hair alright? He _knew_ he should have dropped by the loo to fix that stray curl of blond hair that kept poking him in the _bloody_ eye-

"Don't make Millicent sound like some sort of guard dog," Harry smiled at Draco's flustered expression and the furtive way he was patting consciously at his slightly tousled fringe. "Just wanted to drop by and see you, and give you this." With that, Harry placed a bowl of piping hot soup in front of Draco, taking special care not to spill any onto the crisp documents that were scattered on Draco's office table.

But Draco was craning his head, his eyes widening in bewilderment when he saw a thrilled Millicent tucking into her own portion of soup, courtesy of Harry.

"Seems like I don't really need to make an appointment to see you, hmmm?" Harry said in a lilting tone, his lips quirking up into an impudent grin.

"But… but you're only allowed to see me once a week! You can't just bend the rules to your liking!" Draco spluttered, refusing to acknowledge how his heart was practically floating joyously on thin air upon seeing Harry.

"Someone went to the tremendous trouble of Flooing over to Ron's place yesterday simply because he wanted to see me. Seems like you made the first move in breaking the rules first, _Mister _Malfoy," Harry purred teasingly, those brilliant green eyes dancing cheekily.

"And this is for you too," Harry continued, pulling out a slim Muggle mobile phone and handing it to a stupefied Draco. "No one else has the number of this phone except me."

"What use would I have for this?" Draco knew what it was, of course, but he didn't understand why Harry was giving it to him as a gift. The blond frowned and turned it over curiously in his hands, the pads of his fingers exploring the sleek, foreign buttons of the device.

"I wanna call you and hear your voice every night before I go to sleep," Harry replied succinctly, loving how the other man immediately looked down to the floor, trying unsuccessfully to conceal the gentle blush on his cheeks.

"We're not going to be one of those lovey-dovey couples that talk on the phone for hours before spending half an hour saying goodnight to each other. So you can take it back because it's not going to happen," Draco said staunchly, replacing the mobile firmly on the table. A small part of Draco knew that that Harry would probably be all disappointed and downcast and then Draco wouldn't be able to say no and he'll end up taking the damn phone back anyway.

"I would be a fool if I had expected that. I think even someone as busy as you could actually spare five minutes for a man desperate for your affections every night, no?" Harry coaxed, pushing the phone towards Draco.

"Well… if you put it like that," Draco sniffed haughtily and pocketed the phone. What did he think he was playing at, huh? Harry turning up in his office unannounced was an unprecedented maneuver, and Draco felt uneasy at how Harry was manipulating the direction of this whole arrangement. And the way Harry had moved so close to him last week was downright disgraceful _but it didn't seem as though you had any problems with it_, _hmmm… _That was it! Draco was going to give the cocky brunette a proper lecture on what exactly was allowable conduct-

"Do you know how innocent you look when you blush? Do you know how much I love it when you tremble and shiver whenever I touch you? I know it's only been a day since I've last seen you, Draco, but I can't stop thinking about you," Harry whispered tantalizingly, the raw heat in his eyes rendering Draco silent. The ex-Gryffindor let his thumb lazily stroke the heated skin of Draco's cheeks for a few moments before stepping away reluctantly.

"See you on Friday, gorgeous," Harry murmured invitingly and shot Draco a coy, sexy look before slinking out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. Draco watched shamelessly, trying not to sigh dreamily when he gazed lustfully at Harry's cute bum sashaying as he strolled suavely down the hallway.

No, no, no, _no_! This was all wrong! It was _Harry_ who was supposed to be losing control, not Draco! Groaning heavily to himself, Draco let his forehead fall onto the table, his mind failing to banish the risqué images of Harry's arse and body. Merlin, he was practically_ drooling_ at the man! This was completely uncalled for! The tables were turned and the fulcrum of this power play was shifting steadily towards Harry's favor.

And Draco wasn't sure whether he liked that at all.

* * *

"What's the meaning of this?!"

"It's… it's a letter, Potter. It's a letter from me telling you that I can't make it to your party tonight."

"And you didn't even have the guts to tell it to me straight to my face. You promised, Draco! And you're blowing it off simply because of a last-minute business trip!"

"My work _always_ comes first. Besides, you'll just be missing one person if I don't go. Now if you'll excuse me-"

"Stop packing your damn files and listen to me! It won't be the same without you, please… I… really want to see you tonight. We never did go out properly-"

"I would appreciate it greatly if you moved out of my way, Potter."

"Sometimes I don't think you know how sodding irresponsible, irritating and…_ infuriating_ you can get-"

"Moving onto words starting with the letter J next, aren't we? Please don't expect me to waste any more time on this topic. My Portkey's already waiting for me. I expect an owl from you detailing a suitable arrangement for our next date, which will take place _next_ week."

"… Fine. _Fine_. Thanks for the happy_ bloody _birthday!"

* * *

"I hate how he thinks he's so superior, so goddamn proud and so downright snobbish all the damn time! It's as though I mean nothing to him!" Harry ranted, clenching his half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey tighter in his curled fist and taking a long swig from it.

They were sprawled on the steps outside the bar that Ron and Harry's co-workers had booked to celebrate Harry's birthday. Ron could still hear the faint bass beat of the club music raging on inside. Instead of holding a party at Harry's flat, they had decided to do things differently this year, mostly because of Harry's promotion to Head of the Unspeakables Department five months ago.

"There's no use getting so worked up over this," Ron pacified and gently pried the Firewhiskey from Harry's agitated grip, but Harry held onto it fast and shrugged Ron off roughly. The redhead sighed and leaned back, gazing at his best friend of sixteen years.

"Sometimes I'm just so confused, so tired of wondering what he's thinking all the time. I've done all that I can to show him how sincere I am, but it's so disheartening at times. Maybe I went a bit too far last week with the touching and everything, but he didn't seem to be mad about it! I wish I could know what's going on in that crazy mind of his, how I can understand him better… I just _wish_…" Harry hiccupped and brusquely wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He placed the bottle down on the dusty ground, his elbows slipping from his knees despondently and his green eyes lowered sadly. Harry looked deflated, as though all the fight and energy had gone out of him. The brunette's face was blemished with hurt and anger, disappointment churning around him like the thickest gloom.

"Am I… Am I not good enough for him? Sure, I don't sit in a cushy office the whole damn day and get featured in magazines and stuff, and I don't jet around the sodding world meeting all those rich people all the damn time, but… but I do my job well, don't I?" Harry muttered doubtfully in an alcohol-drenched voice as he glugged down his drink desperately.

"Harry! Listen to yourself getting so bloody hung up over Malfoy! You're one of the best Unspeakables in the Ministry! Do you remember all the times we've stuck our necks out for the sake of our jobs, Harry?! It's your birthday today, for sod's sake! Come on, get yourself together! You've been fine without him for the past twenty-seven years, haven't you? Why should this year be any different, eh?" Ron flared up indignantly, his lips pursed in disapproval while he grabbed Harry's arm and shook him to his senses.

A silent bolt of lightning roiled and burnt amongst the clouds, ripping the night sky into half. The wind, harsh, cold and biting, sliced the air like a sword. Harry scowled darkly and downed another mouthful of Firewhiskey.

"Damn right you are, Ron. I don't need him anyway. He's just a stupid, stupid… _person_!" Harry slurred, his words carelessly thought out and tumbling out in a mess under his haze of inebriation.

The cyst of outrage lurking in Harry was taking root again, masking the bruising in his heart. He felt a gnawing hunger itching all over him relentlessly, eating away at him. Harry didn't get his proper weekly dosage of Draco this week, and he was _pissed_.

"Been doing fine up till now, haven't I? Who did I have before him? Joshua, wasn't it? I'mma have fun tonight, Ron, I'mma have so much fun tonight that I'll forget all about him!" Harry blustered, his breath hissing between his teeth testily and his lips welded together in furious resolve. Galvanized into action, the brunette tipped the whole bottle of Firewhiskey down his throat, licked his lips greedily, tossed the empty bottle carelessly on the floor and staggered back to where his party was held.

"Harry!" Ron called out, getting to his feet. A twinge of worry sparked in Ron. He knew that whenever Harry was under the influence of alcohol, he would get frisky, his hands going everywhere and anywhere. Add that fact together with the presence of Joshua tonight, who had been Harry's ex and was still working in the Ministry currently, the end result might be a bit… troubling.

But it was no one's fault that Malfoy refused to turn up! It was only right for the birthday boy to enjoy himself today, wasn't it? _He doesn't need babysitting! I'll keep an eye on him, and when he does anything too much I'll be there to stop him_, Ron promised himself gravely before following Harry back to the bar.

* * *

Draco hoped that Harry would like the present.

Pushing back a delinquent twirl of the ribbon with his finger, Draco smiled and increased his pace, eager to see Harry again. The blond had tried to wrap up things as fast as possible that evening when he had been away, and Millicent had been wonderful to volunteer to stay a bit longer alone to tie up some loose ends. With today's affairs settled, Draco's mind was finally at ease.

He didn't know why he felt so guilty and ashamed after the heated words that he had exchanged with Harry that afternoon. His work would always take precedence over his relationships, and it shouldn't have been an exception for Harry. Draco's performance and concentration had been less than stellar during the meeting, his inattentive mind drifting off to the frustrated and distressed expression cut into Harry's face.

The present had been something that he had picked up randomly at one of the gift shops at Portkey Central. Because of a few problems that had cropped up unexpectedly during work that week, the priority of getting Harry's birthday gift had been pushed to the back of his mind, and that negligence only made Draco feel worse. _Maybe I'll take some time off work and get a really nice present for Harry to make it up to him_, Draco thought, beaming.

It was already rather late, but Draco could still hear the music and rowdy guffaws in the bar still going on strong. The blond stood outside on the steps for a moment, his toes wriggling in his shoes, skewers of hesitation and apprehension climbing up his spine. He was quite sure that he wouldn't really know anyone there, but…

_Just the two of us. _

Draco hitched his back up straighter, squared his shoulders and stepped over the threshold into the mind-numbing cornucopia of smoke, alcohol, people and music so loud that it could make your heart palpitate.

Draco squinted and scanned the scene in front of him rapidly. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a very drunk and practically comatose Ron Weasley, his tall body draped languorously over a few stools at the counter. Granger was standing beside him, sighing in exasperation as she half-heartedly flicked droplets of cold water over her husband's face in a futile attempt to wake him.

When Hermione noticed Draco, her eyes went round with surprise. Nevertheless, she flashed the blond a friendly smile and waved at him. In reply, Draco blinked and nodded politely in her direction, but wasted no time in continuing his search for the brunette.

And then he saw him.

Immediately, as though it was a reflex action, Draco's fingers arched and clawed at the present, his nails unwittingly creating little tears on the wrapping paper when his gaze sharpened further and zoomed in on the exhibition happening at a darkened corner of the room.

The spectacle was tearing like barbed wire all the way into his eyes and his brain, and together with this droning sound that rang around his ears like a swarm of provoked bees, the feeling was unbearable. The echoing shock was fading, and raw anger, accompanied by a cold icicle of agony _why does it hurt so much, I don't know_- was rapidly materializing. There was a dull _thump_ as the present which Draco had been so thrilled just seconds ago hit the floor forlornly like a broken dream.

_and now my heart is breaking, breaking- _

A painful sound, something that lingered in between a sob and a snarl, escaped from Draco's lips.

There stood Harry Potter, his grasping, squeezing hands moving, hot and fast, across a tanned, toned chest _that didn't belong to Draco_- and his tongue thrust wildly down his ex-boyfriend's throat.

* * *

**/tbc**

Finally, some trouble in paradise.

Review! (:


	6. Drenched in Dusk

**Flirt by xErised**

**Drenched in Dusk**

* * *

It was way too bright for it to be night.

Harry whined as he yanked the bedcovers up and burrowed deeper beneath them. He curled his body up into a fetal position and sighed, snuggling happily into his pillow. Now, for him to return to that sweet, sweet dream about Draco-

"Harry! Harry, wake up!"

And then something was shaking him, jerking him out rudely from hallucinations of DracoDraco_nothing_EVERYTHINGabout**Draco**- The blinds were suddenly yanked open and jarring, blinding light glared their way into the brunette's drowsy state. Harry rubbed his face and moaned, cracking open a sleep-swollen eye. Hermione was perched edgily at the edge of his bed, urgently tearing out the blankets from Harry's grasp.

"Let me _sleep_-"

"Draco's leaving you!"

Well, that certainly got his attention.

"What?!" Harry yelped, catapulting upright in shock. He immediately regretted doing that; the room tilted crazily around its axis and a dizzying constellation of stars popped stunningly behind his eyes. Groaning, Harry cupped his face with his hand and leant to his side.

"Drink this. I fed you some last night, but you didn't take all of it."

With that, Harry felt someone nudge the lip of a bottle near his mouth. His eyes still closed, the brunette gratefully gulped the hangover potion down, feeling his senses clearing up fractionally.

"W-What did you mean by that?" Harry pressed on, his voice rubbing painfully against his throat like sandpaper. He hadn't regained full control of his faculties yet, but what Hermione had said just seconds ago was demanding answers in his teeming brain.

"Draco came to the party yesterday, and he caught you kissing Joshua!"

Now, the bile rising up in Harry's throat had nothing to do with alcohol.

"I didn't kiss him… Draco told me he wasn't going to be there… doesn't make sense," Harry stuttered disjointedly, but even as he spoke there were vague snatches of moments, snapshots of last night's horrors bowling down through his foggy mind.

"I saw him, Harry! I think he finished his trip early just to see you, he even had a present all ready and… and he saw you with another man-"

"Why didn't you chase him-"

"I did, but it was so crowded! By the time I could get close enough to grab him, he had already Apparated!"

A horrible concoction of fear and guilt was welling up in Harry as he ignored the sonorous ringing in his head and tried to focus on the topic at hand.

"It was just a kiss right, we didn't go any further-"

"If I hadn't stormed over there to tear the two of you apart, it definitely would have progressed to something further! Harry, you already knew I had my reservations about inviting Joshua last night! Everyone at work knows how he's been trying to win you back after you dumped him. You should have seen Draco's face, it was _horrible_," Hermione pointed out fretfully, wringing her hands in despair.

Harry cursed sharply under his breath and thumped his forehead with his fist, blaming himself fully for yesterday's altercation. It had all gone up in smoke; every planned detail, all the painfully patient battles fought and won to gain Draco's affections, every single thing that he had worked so hard for was crumbling into uselessness simply because of that split second scandal.

"Go and talk to him, Harry! It's Saturday, he'll be at home! Make him understand-"

"Hermione, thanks… but I can't do anything about it now," The pounding in his head wasn't going to go away anytime soon; Harry predicted that he would need the whole day to recuperate and gather his wits about him, and a while more to worry about the next best tactic that he should perform. Maybe it would be better to let Draco cool down too before Harry showed his face again. "I'll get some time off work on Monday and see him."

This was his own mess, and no one else could clean it up for him.

* * *

The first thing he noticed was that the door was ajar.

Fingering his wand discreetly, Draco placed his briefcase quietly on Millicent's table and crept to his office. Behind him, Millicent had her own wand already out and angled towards the shadowy figure moving inside Draco's room. They had just returned from a meeting, and Millicent wondered how the intruder had successfully gained access into Draco's quarters, which were Apparation-proof. Most, if not all, of the important paperwork was placed in a private safe that was skillfully concealed in Draco's office, and it was further protected by wards that only Draco and Millicent knew.

Harry all but jumped when the door behind him was thrown open with a slam. Turning quickly, he felt his heart skip a beat when the brunette saw two wands aimed directly at him. Upon seeing Harry, Draco's shoulders sagged in mild relief when he realized that the trespasser wasn't after any sensitive documents. But the color drained out of the blond's face when he remembered the events that had transpired last week; the vile, hot sickness that spat and surged within him like a furious dragon, the horrible feeling that was something akin to realization, choking the very air that he was breathing. He remembered hearing Granger's shrill voice calling out his name, hearing her footsteps trailing after him as a poor substitute _why was it her that chased me, why wasn't it you, tell me, because if it had been you it wouldn't have gotten to this, it would have been salvageable, tell me, why_!- for Harry's-

"How did you get in?" Draco said apathetically, his voice containing no notion of emotion at all. Draco dropped his gaze downwards and stifled a gasp. He felt his heart lift dangerously, suspended by a minute thread of hope.

The blond was surrounded ankle-deep in bouquets and ribbons of roses of all shades and shapes. The floor was plastered with flowers, so many that the carpet couldn't be seen, this lively explosion of rainbow colors that made Draco so dizzy he had to hold onto the doorknob for support.

Behind him, Millicent hesitated, before retreating wisely.

"How did you get in?!" The hard edge in his tone was getting more and more distinct as Draco tediously waded through the sea of blooms and closed the door firmly behind him.

"I was hiding outside with my Invisibility Cloak. I… reckoned you were late for the morning meeting when the both of you dashed out and forgot to lock your room. Then I quickly brought the roses here. I had to Apparate downstairs and work my way up because I can't Apparate to your office," Harry said out in a rush, hating how Draco was giving him a wide berth, hating how all the warmth had been leeched out of his grey eyes. "I just want to apologize-"

"You've apologized. Now get out," Draco cut in roughly, his voice as precise and passionless as homework.

"At least let me explain why I did it-"

"I don't want to hear it. Are you too slow to comprehend the simple meaning behind the words _get out_-" Draco barked irritably, his hands curling into fists behind his back and a muscle ticking fiercely in his jaw.

"There's always been something holding you back and pushing me away from you at the same time! You don't say what you really think, and sometimes, when we talk, I can see that your heart's not in it! Your eyes wander towards your watch at times, and it's like... it's like you have better things to do than to go out with me! I'm _sick _of overanalyzing your sentences, reading in between the lines for any hidden meanings to try and gauge your _true_ emotions!" Harry railed, taking an agitated step towards Draco.

He had been harboring all of this, all of the subtle signs that he had picked up from Draco. They broiled and bit relentlessly at his heart, but Harry had persevered, thinking that _it's fine, I'll wait a while more, maybe all he needs is time_-

Draco fell silent at this raw admission of feelings, his eyes shuttered and screened. He shifted from foot to foot and brought his arms up, crossing them jerkily. The blond still refused to meet Harry's beseeching gaze. Draco didn't know that he did all those little habits whenever he was around Harry. His head still bowed and his expression hidden, Draco slowly lowered his arms and let them hang limply at his sides, and then Harry thought that it was alright, it was going to be okay in the end and he was rushing towards the blond-

-_cheat_.

"And that gave you the go-ahead to snog some other man?!" Draco suddenly lashed out, that protest acting as a brake to Harry's advances.

"It was a mistake, and I am very, very sorry for that. Please forgive me-" Harry tried to suppress the hint of a sigh in his voice, but even before the brunette could finish his sentence, Draco, with his eyes cold and dagger-sharp, lifted a leg and stepped viciously on a trio of deep-red roses, mashing the petals under the heel of his shoe until they had disintegrated into crescents of bits and pieces, destroyed and clotting an ugly red all over the floor, all over the carpet, all over Harry's _heart_-

"You need to learn how to be loved," Harry whispered, a damaged and dull smile painted over his mouth.

"Love? Hah. I don't love you, nor do you love me. It's so… _Gryffindor_ of you, complicating this game by bringing love into the equation," Draco jeered, letting out a derisive snort of laughter.

"A… game?" Harry faltered, his voice dropping even lower. He stared at Draco with fraying hysteria, his head shaking as though he could abolish the echoing words lodged in his head. No, this did not compute, this wasn't how it's supposed to be-

"Did you seriously think you were good enough for me? All of those cheap Muggle dates?! Don't you think that I'm worthy of something better, something more... _expensive_?! You should actually count your lucky stars that I've actually _wasted_ this much time with you!" Draco scoffed venomously. Each word was tailor-made to wound and hurt Harry in a bid to get back at the brunette for the anguish that Harry had inflicted on Draco. The pain had taken a backseat in Draco, and the arrogance was brought forward in this little show.

"I... thought you enjoyed it..." Harry whispered disbelievingly, a pang of heartbreak reflected in his voice. It was so easy to take it all back, so easy for Draco to wave his hands and show that he didn't mean a word of it. Harry's distressed green eyes were like silent pleas to Draco, each dumbfounded blink an insistent tug to Draco's conscience. But Draco's bruised pride refused to relinquish its manacle-like grip of that hated memory, that poisonous recollection of Harry blatantly cheating on him.

"Do you _deserve _my love, _Harry_?"

This lethal parting shot was uttered icily with chilly emphasis, and Harry jerked upright, as though snapping out of a haze of befuddled adoration, and his heart, as fragile as an hourglass, was cracking, _cracking_-

Both men stood as still as a pair of wax mannequins, their hearts and their minds spinning in this terrible, _terrible_ silence that pervaded. As though he was released from a spell, Harry let out a dry little laugh and turned shakily, his feet taking strange mincing steps as he shambled away.

And then, Draco was left standing alone in his sanctuary of an office, his eyes wrenched tight, his teeth cutting into his lower lip, his fingernails digging so deeply into his palms and he was drowning, _drowning _in the roses, the petals, the colors that pierced his guilt and murmured a thousand apologies from Harry-

_and I've thrown my words all around-_

_but now I can't pick up the pieces-_

Letting out a huge roar, Draco bent down and gathered as many bouquets as he could in his shaking arms, hurled the windows open and pitched the roses out of the room. It was as though he was on a rampage, swallowing back his sobs while he snarled and continued to throw the flowers out onto the streets, ignoring the curious passers-by that looked up and wondered why it was _raining roses_-

And then Draco realized that his skin was tearing, little pinpricks of blood blooming due to the thorns on the flowers. He couldn't help but cast his mind back and reminisce about the first bouquet of roses, beautiful, exquisite, white and red, that he had received from Harry on their very first date.

_He used to remove the thorns._

The tears were bleeding him dry, his heart was beating with scorn and fury, his face was buried in his hands and the words were whistling forlornly in his head like the deadliest melody-

_It was over before it had even started._

* * *

Night was a familiar friend.

Draco was no stranger to the intimate slither of faint moonlight and shadows that danced and writhed through the windows of his office and snaked their way to him. The drizzling of rain was falling like tiny, colorless needles, pattering at the glass. The quills on his table were projecting little silhouettes on the floor, and Draco tamped down the childish urge to reach over and caress the shadows.

The blond's eyes matched the onerous and grey landscape of the sky beyond, and with his features shaded in the moonlight dusk; Draco looked like a sculpture cast in a fairytale: pale, untouchable and elegant.

He sat on the floor with his back against the wall, taking up the position that he used to when he was a little boy; legs pulled up close to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around his thighs and his chin resting on his right knee. The blond was enclosed in a brambled wall of meticulously arranged documents and proposals. Draco absentmindedly lowered his eyes to the fortress of docketed files that surrounded him, his gaze dim and vague.

A wedge of light spilt across a stack of parchment, illuminating that the top sheet was slightly askew. Without even thinking, Draco's hands shot out and restored order, making sure that the corners were in place.

He didn't even know that he had cultivated this habit.

He should have drawn the line somewhere. He should never have let himself get so physically and emotionally close. He should have gotten protection from the rules; he should never have let Harry pry each regulation apart with his never-ending touches and sweet nothings.

Maybe last week had been a fortunate accident, an incident that gave him a much-needed wake-up call. It was as though a little, precious slice of heaven had been wrenched away from Draco, leaving nothing but a dull, debilitating ache that siphoned his energy away from him. It felt like an open door, illuminating its path of potential, had been shut rudely in his face. The initial passion, fiery and hot, was gradually cooling down to hardened lava, and Draco wasn't sure whether to let out a laugh or sob at this. He had been risky to play around with this, this sticky spider's web with so many strings attached-

Harry had been as dazzling and hopeful as a shooting star, but yet as temporary.

But Draco found himself reluctant to discard the past month as easy as tossing an old shoe. However much he hated to admit it, he still missed Harry. His mind was still refusing to blot out the cheerful and lovely scenes that both men had shared. Part of Draco was stung with regret, wondering what would have happened now if he had accepted Harry's genuine apology. He wondered if Harry would have been able to smooth over the hurt and anger that Draco had been stewing in over the past weekend with just a simple touch or a few heartfelt words, if only Draco had let him.

But it didn't matter anymore, did it?

Draco smirked humorlessly as he pulled out the basket of baked goodies that he had been snacking on for the past few days. The basket was almost empty, and Draco scowled darkly, remembering how he had blushed whenever he chewed on a brownie. This time, the blond picked up a chocolate chip cookie and regarded it with a neutral gaze.

It didn't take long for Draco to curl his hand into a fist and crush the cookie into smithereens, letting the crumbs fall to the floor. Grey eyes gradually began to narrow, glaring hotly at the remains of the cookie still stuck to his palm, at each sugary sprinkle of betrayal, at each spin of candy bristling with lies.

_do all the broken pieces-_

_mean that I can throw them all away?_

Draco didn't know how long he remained there, cocooned in the soporific darkness, his face cloaked in an inscrutable blend of sadness and secrecy. The silence that pressed in all around him was dark, stifling and deafening.

It took Draco some time before he realized that he had been staring at something that was not there.

* * *

There was a tub of Ben and Jerry's ice-cream sitting on the dining table.

Draco, still pink-cheeked from his shower, froze in his steps, the damp towel slipping from his hands.

"I know you're here! Get out and leave me alone!" the blond raged, his thunderous voice bouncing angrily off the four walls. He didn't know how the brunette might have gotten in, since his Floo was fitted with a ward that prevented people from trespassing when Draco was not home. The only logical conclusion that the ex-Slytherin could reach was that Harry had sneaked in when he was in the bath.

He bolted to his study, slamming the door loudly behind him. In a huff, Draco rushed over to the towers of files that demanded his attention and dumped them unceremoniously on his table. Ignoring the hungry growl that emanated from his stomach, Draco snatched up a quill and began leafing wildly through the pages, his movements so frantic and heated that he almost risked tearing a sheet out.

But he wasn't in the right frame of mind to work; the sliver of spark itching its way throughout his body _oh God what is he doing here, what does he want, will I take him back, will I_- was distracting him, fuelling his emotions even more. Harry could even be crouched right beside him, hidden in plain sight under his damned Cloak.

That thought chilled and thrilled him to the bone.

Gradually, Draco managed to steady his breathing as he rubbed his brow with his palm wearily. He sighed, put his quill down and brought both of his hands up, threading them messily through his hair, delivering an unconvincing picture of someone who did not care. As though he had come to some sort of decision, the blond stormed out to the hall and shook the carton of ice-cream at nothing in particular.

"If I eat it will you leave?!"

He hadn't really expected an answer. Wondering whether he was doing the right thing, Draco summoned a spoon and twisted open the ice-cream lid hesitantly. Before he dipped the spoon in, he lifted his head and gazed warily at his surroundings, wondering if Harry would swoop out from nowhere and gather him in his arms.

_Wishful thinking_, Draco laughed impassively when he took the first few bites of the dessert and nothing happened. The blond let the treat _funny how it doesn't taste so sweet anymore_- slide down his throat and let out another sigh, the fight slowly fading from his eyes and disappointment setting in. Harry had probably dumped the ice-cream there and left straight after, Draco thought as he fished out the chunky cheesecake bits and chewed on them quietly for a moment.

Harry appeared so fast and so suddenly that Draco almost swallowed his spoon.

"When you ate it, I think a part of you already forgave me."

And then, even before he could blink, Draco's back was thrown against the wall, Harry's body pressed dangerously close and his cloak shed on the floor. Draco let out a wordless hiss and kicked ineffectually at Harry, his pale arms held as rigid as tree branches. Without flinching, Harry effortlessly encircled Draco's slim wrists in his hands and hooked them behind his back, and then he was leaning in, as though he was going to-

"Comparing kissing techniques, aren't we? Thought maybe I could kiss better than _him_?" Draco bit out harshly, turning his face away from Harry and struggling to free himself from his iron-clad grasp. Although a cruel parody of a smile played on the blond's lips, Harry could see the grey in Draco's eyes transforming into pools of hurt, the ugly little scene in the bar playing endlessly and heart-wrenchingly in Draco's brain like a stuck Muggle film-

"Stop seeing and start _feeling_," Harry coaxed, before closing his eyes and covering Draco's frowning mouth with his own.

Draco had been so ready to seal up the Harry-shaped hole in his life, so ready to usher him out, but here he was, yet again, forcing and shouldering his way back in as though he belonged there. And then, very reluctantly, Draco felt his arms stop their futile tussling, the string of vituperation wilting on his lips, his limbs unable to find the strength to fight back, his heart and body succumbing perceptibly to Harry's barrage of gentle embrace.

It might have just been the ice-cream, but Harry tasted delicious.

His eyes blinked once, twice, before fluttering closed, his hands grappling uncertainly on Harry's wrists. As though sensing that the battle was swaying to his favor, Harry wrapped his arms confidently around Draco's waist and pulled him even closer, expecting Draco to kiss back any second now.

But he didn't.

Harry's hands were coy and wandering, but not sleazy. Draco gasped when Harry's fingers skimmed up the small of his back and stroked the sensitive skin at the back of his neck, before sliding smoothly back to his waist and giving it a light squeeze.

Harry's kiss was taking him down memory lane, over the dates that they had shared, glazing efficiently over the cheating scene, each tender lick ghosting over Draco's pliable lips like an overdue apology. The brunette's lips were strong, yet patient, forceful, but not demanding as Harry waited for reciprocation.

It was the kiss when there was nothing left to say.

His resolve crumbling and his true feelings breaking free with each and every passing moment, Draco kissed back desperately, returning the passion and possession that Harry fed him. His whole system was thrown into haywire, his senses in overload, the ground turning into quicksand beneath his feet and the blood pounding, crackling, _storming _along the very edge of his veins, and then Draco was moaning in Harry's mouth, his fingers lost in Harry's hair, his eyes scrunched tight, their breaths getting shorter and faster, their melded mouths points of intense contact and heat-

_just don't give up on me- _

They fell oblivious to their surroundings, this panic-stricken _because kisses don't lie, do they, will you still want me after this_-, whispering, ensnaring kiss, and they no longer knew how long it had lasted because the important thing was that they didn't want it to _stop_-

Harry pulled away suddenly, and Draco mewled, his voice aching with need when his lips were exposed to cold, bracing air. Harry's eyes were shining and his cheeks were flushed as he hushed Draco and dipped his head, planting a silver necklace of butterfly kisses on the base of his neck, his hypnotic fingers feathering across Draco's hips and waist teasingly, and then he was whispering, almost chanting Draco's name under his breath, nibbling and licking playfully at Draco's neck, and the blond's brain was failing him, faltering to a complete standstill as he stood there, wriggling in pleasure-

_sometimes-_

**touch **_is all we need-_

Harry pulled back, his eager green eyes checking Draco's expression, wondering if he had redeemed himself or dug himself deeper in his grave. Draco's eyes were round with disbelief and confusion, his fingers lingering on his own lips, lips which were throbbing as though they had a heartbeat of their own-

Both of their hearts were thudding ponderously, and the atmosphere felt like the eerie calm after a thunderstorm. It seemed as though Draco still had his reservations, but Harry wouldn't hear any of it. He lunged forward, holding Draco so tightly, so closely, so_ violently _that the blond couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything else but it didn't matter because Draco could exist only on the scent of Harry, the drunkenness of his kisses, the steady and firm rhythm of Harry's heartbeat through his chest _that's all I need, nothing else_-

Draco looked out over Harry's shoulder out to the windows. It was raining, a light drizzle, and a chilly draft of wind was blowing towards them, raising goosebumps on his arms. It reminded him of the night that he had spent in the office. But why did he feel so warm this time? Why did he feel so different?

_I don't know if I should stay-_

_or turn around and-_

_run-_

"Sometimes I realize that I've spent the whole day doing nothing but thinking about you. And I get so pissed with myself, wondering why I'm so crazy about you… because I know that you don't think about me as much, and it… hurts a bit," Harry started, loosening his grip and staring deeply into Draco's troubled grey eyes. He held him carefully, as though the blond was made of china.

"Always, after our dates, my smile doesn't go away, even after you've left. I think… I think that's got to mean something, doesn't it? That's why I'm not letting you go, not over this stupid incident! And about that… I'm just really… sorry. It was nothing but a mistake," Harry finished, his lips bent in contrition.

"Do you know how many rules you've broken?" Draco said quietly, but he already knew that this fact was inconsequential. The rules had already been whittled away at the edges already, and Draco looked away, not willing to show Harry the paradoxical states of his mind, the uncertainty and fear simmering in wait underneath his anger. _Does this mean that I'll take him back regardless of what he has done? Am I going to pardon every wrong that he does in the future? Have I been too soft-hearted?_

Draco sighed and inwardly prodded his feelings experimentally. He remembered how Harry added sparks to his daily grind of work, and he couldn't deny the fragile thread of intimacy, longing and promise between them.

"One more chance. Don't mess it up," Draco mumbled, gazing down at his feet.

Harry's face burst into a brilliant smile and he hugged Draco again, but there was something niggling away at him. A small part of Harry had expected an apology from Draco about the things that the blond had said during the confrontation in his office, but it didn't seem that he would be getting one.

However, that wasn't on the forefront of his mind right now.

"Your present!" Draco suddenly piped up. "I didn't get you one in the end!"

"It's okay. I got something else much more precious this birthday," Harry replied, smiling. When Draco tilted his head questioningly, Harry dropped a kiss on Draco's cheek and murmured cheekily.

"I got you back. And that's everything that I'll _ever_ need."

* * *

Perhaps his expectations had been a bit too high.

It was the second night that he was out of the country, and he liked to think that he had purely brought the phone with him on a whim. Draco sat in his hotel room, his forgotten quill dripping ink onto the blank piece of parchment as he stared hard, his eyes slitted in concentration, at the mobile phone beside him, as though by glaring at it, it would ring.

When it did ring, Draco almost fell off his chair.

The blond squeaked and scrambled for the phone. Just when he was about to flip it open, he paused. Maybe he shouldn't sound too eager? But he shouldn't sound too indifferent about it, if not Harry would think that Draco didn't like him calling? _This was stupid_, Draco finally cleared his throat casually and answered the call, keeping his voice low and neutral.

"Hey. I'm not bothering you, am I?" Harry's voice was transmitted clearly, and Draco grinned.

"It's fine. I… wasn't expecting you to call me, actually," Draco fibbed, twirling a coil of blond hair girlishly around his finger.

"Really? Then why did you bring the phone along, hmmm?" Harry teased lightly, laughing.

Oh, _bollocks_.

"It's alright, Draco. Stop blushing."

"W-Who says I'm blushing!"

Harry only chuckled. "Hurry back when you're done with your work over there, okay?"

"Why?"

"Just don't like you to be alone on the other side of the world," Harry said gruffly.

"It's perfectly safe here! There's no need for you to worry. Besides, Millicent's here too," Draco reassured, but was secretly pleased to be the object of Harry's concern. The other man's voice mollified Draco's weariness from the intensity of the meetings, and the little ache that felt like homesickness in Draco's gut was beginning to alleviate.

"I need to go now, got lots of documents to prepare for tomorrow," Draco lied, keeping his tone carefully nonchalant.

"Oh," Harry remarked, disappointed.

"But you can call me tomorrow, I'll have more time to talk to you then," Draco said hopefully, and the next few words came out in a rush, "I mean, if you want to, of course."

"Okay then. I'll hear from you tomorrow then."

With that, Draco disconnected the call and hugged the phone to his chest, feeling like some incredibly silly and lovelorn teenage girl. Surprisingly, he didn't really feel like doing any work now. The blond pranced joyously towards his bed and flopped lazily onto it, the phone still clasped tightly in his hand.

It didn't take long before Draco was asleep, the ghost of a soft, truly happy smile still etched on his face.

* * *

Nudity hadn't really been part of Harry's Program to Woo Draco Malfoy.

Well, it was, to be honest, but not at _this_ stage.

The astonished brunette stood in the living room of his apartment, with only a towel draped around his hips, his broad shoulders, chest and _Sweet Salazar, just look at him_- muscles completely bare. His black locks were still wet, plastered carelessly around the sides of his face and the back of his neck. His skin was damp and deliciously warm from the shower that he had just emerged from. A clean, soapy scent wafted around Harry, and Draco made a faint choking sound.

"I'll come back later when it's more convenient!" the blond spluttered and backed away. A crimson blush had spread all the way up Draco's neck and was now overwhelming his face.

"It's fine, really. Just give me a while to get dressed," Harry said breezily, grinning at Draco's flustered expression. He quickly went to his room and pulled on a pair of shorts and a shirt.

"I should have told you that I was coming," Draco said, letting out a slightly hysterical laugh. Harry beamed and waved that comment away, breathing in Draco's intoxicatingly sweet scent and marveling at his alabaster skin, a sharp and beautiful contrast to his black jacket.

Harry had taken it upon himself for the past week to undo the damage that he had done. In a desperate attempt to get his name out of the gutter and to recover lost ground, Harry had tirelessly done all he could to show Draco how sincere he really was, all the while keeping out of his sight.

The brunette would send messages to Draco's phone, messages of sickeningly sweet fondness that made Ron balk and Hermione coo when the couple had noticed Harry bashing away at his phone. Of course, the frequency of the messages were moderated to prevent irritating the blond, and Harry had never received a reply from Draco, not even a 'thanks' or a smile.

But Draco responding wasn't really the crux of the issue; Harry only wanted to prove that Draco was always on his mind.

And how could he forget the flowers? Every day, after work, Harry would hurry to the florists' to buy a single long-stemmed rose, stick a tag with Draco's name on it and make his way home.

When the time was near, Harry would Apparate over to the café just across Draco's building and park himself there for a while. The blond tended to knock off work much later, but Harry noticed that he usually went home shortly after Millicent left. Using that as a guide, Harry would wait until the lights were switched off in Draco's office, before dashing over and placing the rose at the handle of the main doors of the building. Harry had picked out the perfect hiding spot after planting the rose; far enough to be easy concealed, but yet near enough to quickly retrieve the flower when other people that worked in the same building exited.

There was no way Harry could afford those extravagant bouquets of flowers all the time, but it didn't seem as though Draco minded at all. At one time, the rose had accidentally fallen to the ground, and Draco was already walking towards the doors. The blond had pouted in disappointment when he didn't see a rose. He ended up back-tracking and scrutinizing the floor in front of him. When he saw the dropped flower, Draco had smiled a lovely smile, picked it up, dusted it off and continued merrily on his way.

Harry had found himself dreaming of that smile that night.

"You look tired. Are you alright?" Draco said worriedly, frowning. There were indents on the bridge of his nose where Harry's glasses had been sitting on for far too long. There was a dark, unshaven shadow outlining his jaw and exhausted rings haunting Harry's eyes.

"We're getting close to solving this particular case that Ron and I have been working on for the past month, so we've been coming into the office earlier to wrap it up. It's no biggie, really," Harry said airily, dismissing it with a toss of his hand. "Besides, seeing you makes it all better," Harry continued, shooting Draco a sly look.

"Only you can say mushy things like that and get away with it," Draco muttered under his breath. "Anyway, I just came over here to ask you whether you would like to go to a wedding."

"Wow, that's quick work. I haven't even popped the question yet! My, my, we _are_ excited, aren't we?" Harry teased, his laughter escalating when an incensed Draco grabbed a cushion and whapped Harry over the head with it.

"It's Pansy and Blaise's wedding. It's happening on Saturday. It would be nice if you would be my date for the evening, but if you have to catch up on your work, I'll just get someone else to come along with me."

"Pansy and Blaise?! I thought Pansy moved back to London only a few weeks ago?!" Harry exclaimed, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

"Well, yeah," Draco sighed. "I did ask her whether she was rushing things a bit, but they've always fancied the pants off each other, even during Hogwarts. So I'll see you on Friday evening to go shopping, and Saturday afternoon for the wedding. Is that fine with you?"

"Shopping?! What for?! I've got clothes!" Harry squawked in horror.

Draco let out a pained sigh and eyed Harry's Snoopy shirt disdainfully.

"Pray tell me, Potter, what is a _dog_ doing on your shirt?"

"It's not just a dog, it's _Snoopy_, the most famous beagle in the Muggle world!" Harry yelped defiantly, wincing at how silly he sounded. Maybe he really _was_ spending a bit too much time with Hugo… "But it doesn't matter, does it? I won't be wearing this to their wedding!"

"Not good enough for me. I've got an appearance to keep, Potter. We're going shopping and that's final," Draco said firmly, his arms crossed. Harry hesitated, his fingers playing a contemplative drum-roll on his arm. If there was one thing he hated to do, it was shopping. Life was simple for both Harry and Ron when it came to shopping: They would wait for Hermione to start nagging at them with the gaping holes in their socks and the breaking seams in their clothes as evidence. Harry and Ron would then drag themselves laboriously to the shops under Hermione's watchful eye and buy everything in bulk, enough to last them for a year.

And Harry's year wasn't up yet, dammit!

"Pansy and Blaise should be celebrating their wedding in one of your hotels, are they not?" Harry asked, and then grinned naughtily from ear to ear when a confused Draco nodded. "Book the both of us in a hotel room for the night and I'll let you take me shopping."

Harry only managed to narrowly dodge the cushion that was thrown to his face.

"I won't hear of it!" Now it was Draco's turn to squawk his protests, but Harry's grin only widened.

"Well then, I guess I'll be wearing darling Snoopy to the wedding then. Come on, Draco, think about it. It's a win-win situation, you get to dress me up on Friday, and I get to… how should I put it… dress you _down_ on Saturday night. I'll get breakfast on Sunday morning, if all goes according to plan," Harry whispered hotly, licking his lips.

"You're incorrigible, Potter," Draco mumbled and turned his head away, hiding his blush. The blond reckoned that it probably wouldn't be too difficult to reject Harry's sexual advances if he really meant it, but most importantly, Draco would get peace of mind, knowing exactly what Harry would be wearing. "I'll see what I can do about the hotel room," Draco conceded.

Harry whooped silently in his head. Of course, he wasn't so ambitious to think that he could get the other man in bed yet, but hey, a few gropes here and there, maybe some explicit murmurs when the time was right, God, just_ thinking_ about it was enough to make him all hot and bothered-

Next week was _definitely_ going to be fun.

* * *

**/tbc **

Harry. Draco. A hotel room.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Review! (:


	7. Dollars to Diamonds

**Flirt by xErised**

**Dollars to Diamonds**

The word count is Frightfully Epic, I know. I guess I was having so much fun in this chapter that I went crazy.

Please do kick back, relax and enjoy. (:

Note the change in rating, people. /grin

* * *

It probably wouldn't be that bad, Harry thought, gearing himself up as they stepped over the threshold into the shop. Draco had promised him that they only needed to visit one store for all of Harry's needs, thus squashing Harry's fear of rushing from store to store, laden down with huge bags of purchases.

"We were wondering when you were going to show up, Draco."

"And we see that you brought a… friend with you. Mister Potter, is it not? Oh dear-"

"Mmmm, yes, I think we've got our work cut out for us."

There were_ two_ of them. Both men looked as though they were in their late twenties, had their sleek blond hair combed back, their arms folded across their chests, their ankles crossed and were leaning casually on two separate recliners. Their body language was mirrored identically, and the effect was disconcerting, to say the least.

However, one of them was more muscular and dressed smartly in black, while the other was taller, had a lankier figure and dressed equally smartly in blue. The taller one was tapping a finger thoughtfully on his lower lip, while the fingers of the other twin were performing a steady drum-roll on his arm. Harry fidgeted under the gimlet scrutiny from two pairs of calculative blue eyes, feeling inadequate and small in his simple shirt and jeans.

Thanks to his adventures with Fred and George Weasley, Harry knew that twins spelt trouble, and the brunette gulped nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"Oh, do excuse us! How completely _rude_ of us, we forgot all about introductions! I'm Parker-" the taller one piped up suddenly, swooping his body into a deep bow.

"and I'm Phillip Ellis. We're both proprietors of the humble shop that you see before your very eyes, and we do hope that you'll enjoy your stay here!" The other twin finished grandiosely, indicating the boutique with a flourish.

"There's no need for such theatrics," Draco grinned good-naturedly and walked into the shop in a leisurely fashion, as though he had been here many times.

"Of course there is a necessity for such formalities! I believe Mister Potter has never patronized us before, so we've got to put up a good show for him, no?" Parker chirped, beckoning Harry to move closer.

The shop was tastefully furnished, complete with abstract paintings that decorated the walls. The pieces of art were rather similar to the ones that Draco had in his office, Harry observed, letting his eyes roam over the store. It didn't really look like a shop; it looked more like a cozy living room, along with an unlit fireplace, rows and rows of shelves with leather-bound books and a delightful medley of comfortable sofas and plush chairs in the middle of the area.

At the sides were racks and racks of clothing and accessories that anyone could ever want for any occasion, although most of the outfits were more suited for evening and formal wear. Expensive lamps hung sturdily from the ceiling, bathing the wares in flattering light. To Harry's left were suits and tuxedoes for the males, color-coded and arranged in a scrupulously neat manner. To his right were designer collections of dresses and gowns of every color and material, ranging from delicate lace to velvety silk and showy, sparkling sequins.

Harry shifted closer, his curious eyes delving further into the store. Adorned on small mannequins were assortments of hats and scarves, and also last but not least, a shocking array of footwear, from polished black shoes for males to dangerously high stilettos and sandals for the ladies.

Harry didn't need to be told that the prices here wouldn't be cheap.

"So how are things with you and Pietro-" Phillip started, but abruptly fell silent when his brother frowned darkly at him. Embarrassed by the slip of his tongue, Phillip flushed and quickly busied himself with tidying the platter of biscuits on the coffee table. Upon hearing Pietro's name, Draco's smile froze briefly before he recovered his equilibrium swiftly. Pulling a crystal champagne flute towards him, Draco tipped the bottle of vintage champagne and filled the glass up.

"I reckon both of you are here for the Zabini wedding?" Parker asked lightly, effectively smoothing over the interrupted air.

"Yes. I need both of you to dress Harry up, from his clothes all the way down to his shoes. I need nothing but the best," Draco instructed and reached over to pluck out a stack of newspapers from the selection of business magazines and publications available.

"You've come to the right place then. Nothing but the best for our Mister Potter, then," Phillip trilled brightly, and as though Draco had given both of them the go-ahead to do whatever they wanted to Harry, the pair of twins rounded on the brunette, their mouths widening into smirks and their mischievous blue eyes narrowing further onto the ex-Gryffindor.

Harry whimpered.

"Green eyes, black hair so messy it should be _illegal_, but hmmm… pretty good physique…" Parker rattled off Harry's physical attributes, counting them off his fingers while his twin nodded his head furiously.

"So how would you prefer it to be, Mister Potter? Sophisticated and suave? Or charming and chivalrous? Or extravagant, yet efficient? Tell us exactly what you want, and you'll exit here like a new man!" Phillip crooned, his fingers itching to get those sloppy clothes off Harry.

"Um. I… really don't know. It's just a suit, isn't it? I mean, I'm going to be wearing it for only one night, so it doesn't matter much?" Harry faltered, wincing. The twins deflated a bit, biting back impatient sighs. Eventually, Phillip turned and asked Draco what he was going to wear to the wedding.

"The ivory-white suit," Draco replied immediately without missing a beat.

"Ah, that truly is an excellent piece. Now at least we have something to work with! Both of you will be the most handsome couple there!" Phillip clapped his hands with relish, his gaze wafting dreamily from clothes rail to organized clothes rail. Parker matched his brother's inspection, his mind cycling rapidly through his mental catalogue of their merchandise.

"Mmmm, that one should work, that color's _fantastic_-"

"No, the cutting's too streamlined; it won't match Draco's at all. How about this one-"

"He's got green eyes, it'll clash horribly, ooh, this one will _definitely_ work, based on his tan and his build-"

"Oh, yes, I agree _completely_, and the shoes, the ties, the jackets, and before we forget, the belts-"

Harry watched with mounting horror as the small pile of approved clothes slowly snowballed into an avalanche of fabric. The twins had their wands whipped out and were swishing them frantically. Harry stared, agog, at the dozens of suits that boomeranged lightning-fast like obedient soldiers from the hangers to the counter beside them.

Well, at least they didn't volunteer to choose his _sodding_ underwear for him.

"I really just need one suit, there's no need for all of this, really-" Harry pleaded.

"What utter _rubbish_. Life is a fashion show and you've got to learn how to _embrace_ it!" Parker huffed shortly as he turned a golden tie over in his hands, studied it with a trained eye, scowled and immediately sent it back to its original position with a smooth flick of his wand.

"Think we're done for now," Phillip announced and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Come on, Mister Potter, off to the dressing rooms we go!" With that order, the brothers led the way, accompanied by the two mountain-loads of apparel that levitated happily behind them.

"Draco…" Harry whispered, his eyebrows furrowing forsakenly. In response, Draco widened his eyes innocently, shrugged his shoulders in a show of feigned helplessness and smiled cheerfully at Harry before returning to his paper.

The brunette sighed and trudged towards the dressing rooms, his head peering in warily. The room was airy, spacious and there was even space for a small sofa. Mounted on all four walls were enormous, full-length mirrors. Harry stepped cautiously to the middle of the room and gawked at the amount of clothes that waited patiently for him. The twins had combined them into one pile, and it looked like a monster of epic proportions, rearing up at Harry.

"T-Thanks," Harry stammered and mustered up a watery smile, an indication for them to leave the room and let him undress.

But the twins didn't move an inch, and instead fixed Harry with duplicate expectant expressions.

"What are you waiting for? Come on, take your clothes off," Phillip said, his foot already tapping a monotonous rhythm.

"Excuse me? Aren't you supposed to wait outside while I change?" Harry floundered, his eyes blinking in surprise.

"We do things a bit… differently here. It's store policy for us to be present while the customer carries out a change of our product. By doing this, we ensure that all garments are worn properly and remain undamaged. Additionally, we can also provide a more convincing opinion on the clothes themselves by looking at the more… naked form of the customer," Parker explained smoothly and smiled genially at Harry.

If Harry could run screaming from this place, he would have, without a moment's hesitation.

"Of course, the underwear stays on. We do not wish to anger Draco by looking at your more… private body parts," Phillip interjected slickly upon seeing the utterly speechless and miserable look on Harry's face.

"A-And you do this for everyone?"

Matching nods.

"No exceptions at all?"

Matching shakes of the head.

"I have to do this to buy the clothes here?"

Again, those _infuriating_ matching nods.

"Fine," Harry acquiesced darkly. It was either to obey them, or to storm out, risking Draco's wrath and a definite trip to a few other shops, which Harry did not desire under any circumstances. He just wanted to get this nightmare over and done with.

His face swallowed by a hot blush, the brunette stripped, toeing his shoes and socks off first, then pulling his shirt off and unbuttoning his jeans. The twins eyed him up like a piece of juicy steak, and Parker licked his lips lasciviously.

"Draco does have good taste, doesn't he-"

"Oh yes, definitely, you rough, muscle-laden hunk of _man-meat_," Phillip snarled hotly as he took a step nearer to the astonished brunette. Harry squeaked and shied away, but he felt Parker step neatly behind him.

Harry wondered if Draco would come bursting in if he hollered 'rape'.

Just outside of the dressing room, Draco stifled a laugh behind his paper.

Immediately, the hungry look on Phillip's face faded, replaced by a comical grin. "I just need to take your glasses off. We're not going to eat you up, Mister Potter."

"I can do that myself, thanks," Harry said hastily and removed his spectacles.

"Wonderful. Since we've got a lot of ground to cover, things will operate in this manner," Parker said and quickly gave Harry a run-down of the machinations of the maneuvers. Apparently, Parker would choose what clothes Harry would try on in a certain sequence, and when Harry was done, he would simply pass them to Phillip who would divide them into suitable piles.

Bloody _hell_, this was nothing but a vicious cycle, Harry groaned inwardly and slipped on the first shirt. It was a frenzied flurry of movement as the brunette yanked on pants and shoes and divested himself of them as quickly as he had worn them. As a result, Harry's hair stood up in choppy and harried peaks. His skin was rubbed raw from the different textures of the fabrics. The twins were decorating him like a Christmas tree, tossing accessories and apparel at him. Their decisions were made as fast as a snap of the fingers.

"Merlin, Mister Potter, please do not tell us that you have a problem knotting your tie-"

"That ensemble's brilliant, it shows off your shoulders perfectly. Definitely a keep-"

"Oh no, no, not those pants, it makes your bum look saggy-"

"My bum is _not_ saggy!"

"Of _course_ it's not, darling! Clearly a yes for that shirt, complements your skin tone wonderfully… Come on Mister Potter, we don't have the whole day-"

"God_damn_ buttons!"

"Absolutely not that tie, no, it doesn't match any of those that we've already chosen-"

And finally, after what seemed like an eternity (but in actual fact was only twenty minutes)-

"And we're done! You've been a wonderful sport, Mister Potter!"

Heaving a huge breath of relief, Harry immediately reached for his original clothes, but was stopped by a firm hand from Phillip.

"It won't do _not_ to show Draco what we've been doing," Phillip said cheekily, wagging a finger admonishingly at Harry. "It's the most perfect one out of all of them, Mister Potter. Put it on, arm yourself with your best smile, and make him go crazy," he continued in a stage whisper.

Harry hesitated for a second, but nodded. _Make him go crazy_. Summoning up a brave, tortured grin, Harry quickly dressed in the combination of clothes that was thrust in his face. But even before he could look at himself in the mirror, he felt his glasses being perched carefully on his nose and two pairs of hands shoving him out unceremoniously.

"And now we present to you-"

"-the improved Harry Potter!" Phillip finished majestically.

Draco lifted his eyes from his paper and gasped breathlessly. The newspaper fell from his hands and fluttered to the floor as he ogled shamelessly at Harry. The clothes on his body fitted him perfectly, as though it was tailored with Harry exactly in mind. He was dressed completely in black except for a slightly loosened bright red silk tie which provided a striking contrast. His jacket was unbuttoned, revealing a gorgeous shirt that hugged his chest and abdomen comfortably. The whole ensemble gave a slightly scruffy, yet adorable look, suiting Harry's unkempt hair splendidly.

"_Wow_. I mean, um, yeah, that's good," Draco mumbled, quickly bending down and picking up the paper to hide his erection. _Merlin, how am I going to resist him tomorrow night if he's dressed like this, oh God_-

Hiding his face behind The Daily Prophet, Draco closed his eyes, took in a few calming breaths to get his heart rate back to normal and the blush to recede in his cheeks. It didn't take long for Harry to exit from the room, a proud swagger evident in his step and looking mighty pleased with himself.

"All of our clothes have Anti-Wrinkling charms on them. If you do need any alterations or any repairs, please do feel free to come back and we'll do it free of charge," Parker explained when both men were at the cashier. "The bill?" he continued delicately. Draco was about to reach for his wand when Harry intercepted him.

"Hey, I'll be wearing them. It's only right that I pay for it."

"But it was supposed to be a present for you, and besides, you don't have enough money-" Draco started, but cut himself off a moment too late.

A dark cloud passed over Harry's features, but it cleared as swiftly as it had arrived. "I _can_ afford this, Draco," Harry gritted out, taking his wand out and streaking it across the receipt. Along with the black suit, the twins had bundled in another five suits, along with a select few accessories. His face blanched when he saw the final price, but it wasn't just money anymore; it was a matter of pride, and frankly, Harry would pay any amount of Galleons simply to see Draco's jaw-dropping reaction earlier.

"Would you like to replace the charms on your earrings, Draco? You did owl us earlier about that matter," Phillip mentioned, an eyebrow raised in query.

"I'll wait outside for you. Thanks for your help," Harry grinned jovially at the brothers, and in reply, both of them winked at him. When Harry was out of earshot, the blond laughed, and it wasn't long before the twins joined in.

"Store policy _indeed_. Merlin, if Harry knew that the stripping in front of you two was a load of utter nonsense, I don't even want to think of what he'll do to you!" Draco managed through chortles.

Contrary to popular belief, the twins were actually straight. In fact, Parker was happily married with two kids and Phillip was engaged to his girlfriend of two years. The little flamboyant performance that they put up all the time kept the customers coming in droves, and together with their exquisite clothes, business boomed, especially when special events like weddings came up.

Ever since he was a young boy, Draco had always been friends with the twins, simply because the Ellis family had been outfitting the Malfoys for a long time. When the parents of the twins had passed away, it was only natural that the shop should go to the brothers, who knew every nook and cranny of the store like the back of their hands.

Parker's shoulders were shaking with mirth as he refreshed the Polishing and Anti-Tarnishing charms on the set of earrings that Draco had brought along with him.

"He really needed the assistance, truth be told. Did you see his face when we were picking out the clothes?"

And then the three of them burst out into peals of renewed laughter.

"We couldn't help it, really. He looks like a stray puppy," Phillip finished, wrapping the earrings up meticulously and handing the box back to Draco.

"Thanks for today. See you at the wedding," Draco said and bade them goodbye.

"What was going on in there?" Harry questioned curiously, having heard the faint snickering.

"Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, Harry," Draco said. He regarded the brunette with a meditative gaze before reaching up and ruffling Harry's hair affectionately.

"You really do look like a lost little puppy, you know that?"

* * *

Harry had wrongly assumed that he would run into someone that he actually knew.

Harry shifted uneasily from foot to foot, swirling the glass of champagne absently in his hand. He took a sip and regarded the scene in front of him with increasing dismay. Draco, a model of self-assurance, was occupied with a few other guests, conducting the conversation with decisive gestures. The blond threw his head back and laughed affably. Draco looked right at home, but Harry stuck out like a sore thumb.

And not once did Draco throw a look in Harry's direction.

A short distance away, the brunette saw Millicent and her husband engaged in a similar situation, handling the conversation with admirable social dexterity. The crowd was composed of captains of industry that Harry saw frequently on the media. They managed different aspects of the economy and consisted of both males and females, ranging from the young to old.

But they shared one thing in common: they were all _filthy_ rich.

Harry sighed and retreated further into the shadows, threading a hand through his hair. He heard the soft ebb and rise of lounge music playing, the gentle clink of porcelain teacups against saucers. The enormous chandelier flung jewels of light on the crowd, augmented by the tiny tea-scented candles flickering delicately in their holders. An impressive tower of impeccably-wrapped wedding gifts graced one corner of the huge ballroom. Vases and vases of stylish, just-bloomed pale pink roses were perched on little covered tables. And right at the very heart of the room was a mind-blowing six-tiered wedding cake that teetered above the guests.

It was elegance and opulence at its very best.

The waiters upheld the standards of the setting by working the room tirelessly, equipped with tempting appetizers such as little bowls of caviar and an endless supply of champagne. Their smiles were painted on their faces, their polite murmurs executed with flawless courtesy. Harry watched their sparkling black shoes perform precise turns, sidestepping other pairs of feet with infallible finesse.

There seemed to be a hubbub arising in the crowd, and Harry turned his head curiously.

Pansy Zabini descended the winding staircase regally, with Blaise holding her hand elegantly. Pansy's floor length skirt, pinched at the waist to flaunt her hourglass waistline, matched Blaise's attire perfectly. Pansy was practically doused with jewelry and heirlooms consisting of a heavy necklace of red bloodstones and jangling bracelets of citrines and turquoise crystals. Harry spied their wedding rings which were priceless pieces of elliptical petals of cut sapphires.

All of the guests clapped furiously when they saw the newly-weds, and the couple bowed their heads gracefully towards the crowd. Blaise's friends roared and cheered at him. Blaise grinned at Pansy and kissed her gently on the cheek before making his way over to them.

And it seemed as though Pansy was making a dogged beeline for Harry.

"Um… Congratulations on your wedding. You look fabulous," Harry said rather shrilly when the ex-Slytherin cornered him, her hands planted firmly on his shoulders. Harry tried not to squirm when her palms breezed across his arms and squeezed his muscles experimentally.

"I see the Ellis twins fitted you very well," Pansy remarked when Harry managed to extricate himself from her grasp. Pansy's lips twitched, as though she was trying not to smile when Harry shifted away, determined to put a respectable distance between the both of them.

"Did you enjoy the wedding ceremony in the afternoon?" Pansy asked, casually sweeping wisps of fringe from her forehead.

"Yeah, it was nice," Harry replied prudently, keeping a vigilant eye on Pansy. He had never said more than three sentences to Pansy when they were at school, so it was a bit unnerving to be exchanging words with her.

"Nice? I hope that it's more than _nice_, considering the amount of money that we spent," Pansy said sharply, a smirk bordering on a mild sneer residing on her lips. And then she named a figure of Galleons that made Harry's jaw drop.

"What's money if not to indulge, Potter?" Pansy said lightly. Her eyes narrowed when Harry didn't seem to budge from his corner. Without preamble, she hooked her arm fiercely through Harry's, dragging him away into the crowd.

"What are you doing?! Hey, _wait_!" Harry squeaked, barely keeping his champagne glass steady.

"Why, we're socializing, of course! I've been keeping my eye on you for a while, and I do hope that you don't mean to spend the whole night hiding. I would be a _terrible _hostess if any one of my guests isn't enjoying themselves," Pansy chirped, her mouth set in a distinctive, imperious line.

"What about your friends?! Why would you want to waste your time with me?!" Harry protested, twisting his arm free.

"Oh, they can live without my affections once in a while. And besides, it would be… fascinating to know what Draco sees in you," Pansy said, her eyes glistening with intent. _Waste your time with me_. What an… _interesting_ choice of words, Pansy thought and filed it away in her mind for future reference.

Harry watched on in amazement as Pansy was bombarded with congratulations and hugs from her friends, and she cooed back in a high, mellifluous trill, waving a hand at them like she was a queen. And the most incredible thing of all was that she was carrying out a whispered, hurried monologue with Harry simultaneously. Harry's head was whirling from side to side as he tried desperately to take in the faces and names that were described by Pansy's heated gesticulations.

"Look at that woman, Potter, she's the mistress of Lieutenant Barker over there- oh _darling_ Lucy, how have you been doing?! Thank you for coming, please do help yourself to the nibbles- that one, Potter, yes, a botched Enlargement spell on her boobs, now one of them is bigger than the other, don't _stare_, Potter- Oh my, my, Sylvia dear, is that dashing young man your son Andrew, Merlin, how he's grown- and that's the steel magnate Cash Cooper, married to supermodel Cerise over there, get a good look at him, Potter, because he's going to appear in the papers next week-"

"I really don't understand where you're going with this, why are you telling me all of this?" Harry said breathlessly when they had barreled through the ballroom. Pansy only stared at Harry, before erupting into raucous laughter.

"Sweet Salazar, you really don't have an inkling what's going on, do you? You think that after the two months you and Draco can simply swan off to the sunset? Maybe in the social position of _your_ life, yes, it is possible, but for us, those in the… _higher _echelons of society, people might not be able to welcome you with open arms. The gap in status between you and Draco is so wide it's not even _funny_. If it's just a simple fling, a one-off-"

"It's _not_ a fling-"

"Cool down. It seems to be getting serious, that's why I'm telling you this. Keep in mind, Potter, that if your relationship with Draco progresses even further, it is mandatory for you to have a good knowledge of who's who in these circles," Pansy said, her words drizzling from her mouth in a lazy, superior drawl.

"Are you done?" Harry said, struggling to keep his temper in check.

"As a matter of fact, _no_. This wedding must be a culture shock for you, isn't it, Potter? Lavish, extravagant, together with guests an eclectic mixture of the elite and aristocracy. Do you think they really care about the wedding itself? They're here for the gossip, for the networking, for their faces to be splashed across the tabloids tomorrow morning. Do you hear any of our so-called friends discussing about the lifetime of domestic bliss that Blaise and I will share? Didn't think so.

"It has to be a far cry from Granger and Weasley's wedding. I bet it was probably held in that poky little house of theirs, complete with cheap food, bad dancing and the conversation being all about the married couple, wasn't it?" Pansy finished, her mouth puckering as though she had caught a whiff of something distasteful.

"It's one thing for you to insult me, but to make fun of my friends?" Harry hissed coldly, his green eyes burning icicles of restrained fury. He was sick of this belittling, this fake little charade and this complete disregard of manners. "I don't care if you think that I'm not a good match for Draco. This matter is none of your concern."

"Your friends don't think Draco suits you too, do they?" Pansy replied softly, her eyes serious. Harry hesitated and recalled the shocked faces of Seamus and Dean when he had introduced the blond.

"I think you've got me wrong. I don't harbor any ill intentions towards you, Potter. I have a feeling that you make Draco happy, and for that, I'm glad. This isn't some sort of threat. Treat this as a… lesson, a heads-up to what you'll be experiencing should you choose to date Draco properly," Pansy said quietly, the harsh expression on her face dissolving. "Don't forget this conversation, Potter. It would do you good to keep it in mind."

Pansy gave a little shake of her head and perked up considerably, much to Harry's confusion.

"Come on, darling! What's with the sour face! It's my _wedding_, for heaven's sake! Have you seen the balcony yet? No? Well, let's go!"

* * *

The waiter laid the three-tiered tray of seafood on the table, filled up their glasses, bowed his head formally and withdrew. Crab claws lolled on a bed of ice, along with treasures like crayfish, scallops and raw oysters. On the higher tier, raw fish basked, garnished with petals of parsley and carved lemon halves.

Harry swallowed, his fists clenching on the ruthlessly starched tablecloth. His fingers hovered uselessly over the cutlery that sparkled in the light, but he simply couldn't take his eyes off the raw food. His throat felt scratchy and dry, and he wanted to take a sip of water. Harry stared dubiously at the four glasses twinkling cheekily up at him, purportedly one for red wine, one for white wine, one for water, and one for champagne, and decided that he was better off thirsty.

He was flanked by Pansy and Draco. Pansy clapped her hands happily and beamed, announcing that sashimi was her favorite. Draco was talking to his neighbor in glib tones, and Harry felt pure, desolate abandon.

Draco sneaked a sidelong glance to Harry and felt a familiar sliver of lust building up in him as he marveled at how handsome his date was. He snaked his hand down to Harry's thigh, took hold of his hand and slipped his own fingers between Harry's fingers. Draco frowned when he noticed how clammy Harry's palm was and how uncomfortable the brunette looked. He was just about to ask him what was wrong, but the man beside him decided to strike up conversation again, and Draco let go of Harry's hand, turning his body away from Harry.

_How can people eat this_, Harry wondered as everyone helped themselves to the raw food with gusto. In his nervousness, he knocked his fork to the floor. Acting on ingrained behavior, Harry immediately ducked down to the floor and picked it up. When he resurfaced, the whole table was staring at him, along with the waiter who had miraculously appeared with a clean fork in hand.

His intestines tangled up into muddled knots of anxiety and unease, Harry placed the fork on the table and looked away, his face burning with acute embarrassment.

His tie was choking him to death.

"Excuse me," he blundered before rising from the table awkwardly and stumbling away to the bathrooms.

Harry tore his tie and jacket off, loosened his collar, undid the top two buttons of his shirt and took off his glasses. He rolled up his sleeves and splashed water on his face, breathing heavily as he stared at his bedraggled reflection in the mirror. It was painfully obvious that he was out of his depth. The brunette rubbed his face, pressing the heels of his palms deeply on his closed eyes. What was he doing here? He should be with Ron right now, wrapping up the Ministry case or resting at home, instead of participating in this_ farce_ of superficiality-

With each sieve of paperwork and each visit paid to dodgy, run-down neighborhoods, Harry and Ron had painstakingly unfurled the labyrinth of clues that taunted them. They had finally pinpointed the location of the highly dangerous Dark artifact, and they were slated to retrieve it on Tuesday. Of course, they didn't expect it to go without a fight, and the extra time spent on improving their curses and wards had taken a toll on both men.

Harry sighed, noticing how drawn his face was and the shadows stirring under his eyes. He knew he was mired at the very bottom of the pecking order, with everyone else dismissing him because he was a lowly Unspeakable. But it wasn't that bad. Millicent and the Ellis twins were rather friendly to him. Although Pansy had made a prickly first impression, she really was a load of laughs, and there wasn't a boring moment with her around.

He reached for a warm towel that lined the shelves in the bathroom and dried his face with it. He suddenly heard the authoritative click-clack of heels and the soft swing of the door opening-

-and came face to face with The Blond. Harry knew him by face and had a gut feeling that this was the legendary Pietro Labelle whose blue eyes had been following Draco around that evening. Harry tried to appear unfazed and fiddled with his tie, his eyes all the while surreptitiously glancing at Pietro.

His black shoes came with a glossy shine and it was no surprise that his clothes were expensive and designer. Pietro rotated his neck from side to side and extended his arms to adjust his sleeves. Harry noted the polished and monogrammed cufflinks, along with the impeccably-styled blond hair.

Pietro tilted his head and met Harry's gaze head-on. Harry was taken aback by the intensity of his stare and stood his ground, blue and green clashing competitively. A complacent smirk spread like poison on Pietro's face as he absorbed Harry's disheveled state, his eyes lingering on his mop of unruly black hair. Pietro shot Harry a smarmy smile and turned sharply on his heel, exiting the bathroom without a single word.

His fingers tightening on the edges of the sink, Harry scowled. He felt that he had been silently graded on his appearance, and compared to Pietro; he knew that he looked like a drowned rat. _You want to play? I'll play with you_. Still bristling with anger, Harry quickly shrugged on his jacket, hitched his tie up higher than it was actually necessary and stalked out of the room.

He had a feeling that this little tug-of-war with Pietro Labelle had only just begun.

* * *

"I didn't know you could dance," Draco quipped as he reached up for Harry's proffered hand.

"Not dance, exactly, more like twirl on the spot," Harry grinned sheepishly and steered both of them to the side of the dance floor, holding Draco close. "God, we finally have some time together," the brunette breathed, combing his fingers through Draco's hair and dropping a kiss on his temple. The blond smiled dreamily and rested his head lightly on Harry's chest, but he suddenly frowned when he felt-

"Draco _darling_, where have you been?! I hardly spoke two words to you the whole evening! Oh, don't worry, Potter, I'll return Draco to you safe and sound. Go and sit with Blaise, won't you?"

And then poor Draco was swept away in a whirlwind of glittery, Pansy-like material.

Harry stared at his arms, which were positioned as though he was still holding onto Draco. Rolling his eyes heavenwards, Harry gave a huff of irritation and made his way towards Blaise, who had been surveying the scene with interest.

"Sorry about that. My wife's a piece of work sometimes," Blaise chuckled. Harry smiled in reply, hooked a chair out from underneath the table and plopped down. Blaise was one of those people that had actually shown genuine interest in Harry's profession, since becoming an Auror or Unspeakable had been one of Blaise's career pursuits. But his family had needed him to helm the vineyards back in Italy, so he had no other choice but to return.

"Blaise, what can you tell me about Pietro Labelle?" Harry ventured, carefully studying the other man's reaction. Upon hearing the question, Blaise looked away and he took a long swig of wine, buying time while he thought of how much to tell Harry.

"I guess I should have expected this," Blaise started and took a deep breath, his eyes downcast while a finger traced circles on the tablecloth. "Pietro Labelle hails from France, but he did his studies at Durmstrang. That's why he's unfamiliar to you. The Malfoys and the Labelles go a long way back, especially since the Labelles were also involved with Voldemort. Pietro was no stranger to the Dark Arts, due to his family background and having schooled at Durmstrang. But at the time, Draco and Pietro were only acquaintances since there was an age gap of eight years.

"After the war, all of us Slytherins were split up. All of those who were alive, that is," Blaise's voice fell when he remembered Crabbe. "Draco, along with his parents, fled to France and sought out the Labelles for shelter. They provided for them, but it wasn't long before Draco's parents passed away. Pietro's own parents weren't better off either, having sustained severe injuries during the War, on top with the worry of the law piled on them.

"They died too, but not before Pietro's father made Pietro promise to take care of Draco like he was his own brother. And he did, taking Draco under his wing and teaching him all he knew about the hotel industry. Pietro was no beginner to that line of work, since his family ran a chain of hotels for a living. The both of them steadily clawed their way up back to prestige and power, with Pietro leading Draco. And well, I guess their relationship developed further, and they dated for five years, before Draco broke it off."

"Why? And if they're not together anymore, why is he still hanging around Draco?" Harry asked, nibbling on his lower lip as he digested this deluge of information.

"I cannot tell you why they broke up. The responsibility should fall on Draco to provide you the information about their romantic relationship. Regardless of what happened between them, it is a fact that both of them are still working together, so it's inevitable that Draco has to tread carefully around Pietro. And so, they share a tenuous working relationship currently. You cannot forget that Draco was Pietro's protégé, and as easily as Pietro made him, he can break him. You took Draco away from Pietro, Harry," Blaise went on, his eyes flittering to Pansy and Draco on the dance floor.

"But Draco was already single when I met him again-"

"It doesn't matter to Pietro. I think he had always thought that Draco would return to him eventually. You see, Harry, there are subliminal messages, lines that cannot be crossed no matter what, and when you, a virtual unknown, turned up as Draco's date tonight, it meant that you were encroaching in on Pietro's… territory in public. And by doing that, you have issued a personal challenge to him."

"Draco didn't tell me anything about this challenge thing. He should have told me about this," Harry babbled, letting out a rather hysterical laugh.

"Draco doesn't bring up the topic of Pietro unless it's absolutely necessary. But I think that Draco really wants you to be here tonight, so…" Blaise trailed off, shrugging his shoulders and finishing his wine before continuing. "Draco's ex isn't a man to be trifled with. In our circles, Harry, Pietro Labelle is _not _known for his kindness," Blaise concluded, placing his wine glass down on the table with an air of finality.

Harry looked away from Blaise's penetrating gaze into the mingling crowd. There were heirs and self-made billionaires, where millions were mere change to them. They were cultured and coiffed, moguls of wealth and dominance. Their companions were toned and taloned, doyennes of elegance and perfection.

But to Harry, they were nothing but nameless strangers, people that did not belong to his world.

**

Meanwhile, Pansy was laughing gaily with Draco as they did a pretty little pirouette on the dance floor.

"You should have seen Potter's face when I dragged you away," she giggled and did another spin, the tail of her white dress rippling like a cloud behind her. "So, how are things with you two?" Pansy asked, a playful smile flirting on her lips.

"I-"Draco started, but stopped abruptly. Harry's presence was a gem in his week, breaking the daily humdrum of proposals and meetings. He didn't want to tell Pansy too much currently, yet he had to extinguish the sparks of her nosiness. "Harry… well, he's a complete sweetheart," Draco supplied economically. "And that's all you need to know for now," he said sternly.

But before Pansy could retort, a familiar figure loomed behind her, and Draco's jaw inadvertently tightened.

"I must say, Pansy, you're looking wonderful tonight," Pietro praised, bending down to kiss the back of her hand. "But may I have this dance with Draco?" With that, he flashed a predatory smile at the blond, keeping the veil of charm up on his face.

"You look dashing yourself, Pietro. Of course, please do," Pansy tittered, but her smile felt glued on. She melted away into the throng, waited for a while before rushing towards Harry and Blaise. Harry immediately stood up, his eyes slitted into formidable gashes. Every cell in him was on red alert as he stomped towards the two blonds. His lips were plastered over his teeth, but it felt nothing like a smile. He tapped Pietro's shoulder from the back and without even waiting for a reaction, Harry moved directly to Draco and wrapped a possessive arm _staking my claim_- around his waist.

"I do believe that Draco is _my_ date for the evening. But I don't recall meeting you properly. I'm Harry Potter," Harry introduced and stuck his hand out, smirking a bit when Pietro looked slightly thrown. Harry felt Draco tense beside him.

"I'm Pietro Labelle. It is my pleasure to meet you," Pietro said, a loaded smile poised on his lips. He shook Harry's hand, almost crushing it with his force. Without even flinching, Harry responded with equal pressure, meeting Pietro's wintry gaze plainly, and it was then that he realized that Pietro was roughly the same height as him.

Both men sized each other up with combative eyes, and it dawned gradually on Pietro that Harry might just be an adversary _he knows who I am, but yet_- to be reckoned with.

"I won't disturb the both of you any longer. See you on Wednesday for the meeting, Draco," Pietro bit out, the back of his teeth grinding behind a quick flash of insincere beam. Harry's grin instantaneously withered and he resisted the infantile urge to stick his tongue out at Pietro's back.

"Sorry about that," Draco said, giving Harry an embarrassed half-smile.

"I'm not letting go of you tonight," Harry declared solemnly, his arms enveloping the blond guardedly.

"I don't mind," Draco sighed whimsically, amazed at how Harry's body was like liquid poured into his suit. "You should wear formal more often," he commented, his pale fingers stroking the brunette's tie coyly.

"Only for tonight, and only for you," Harry murmured back and traced the wavy outline of the candlelight dancing across Draco's cheek. A gentle breeze stirred, magnifying the fragrance of the flowers near them, and along with Draco's own unique scent, it was simply a concoction _the smell of you in every single dream_- of magical mist. Gazing deeply into November-colored eyes, Harry leaned in and kissed Draco's smile briefly as they swayed slowly to the music in each other's arms. _I'm falling for you_, Harry, Draco thought shyly, a strawberry-pink blush rising on his cheeks.

And then Draco realized that he had said that out loud.

"I mean, I didn't just say that-" the blond gabbled, flustered. Harry, on the other hand, was grinning like a loony. But Draco wasn't convinced, averting _why is he not saying anything, what if he doesn't feel the same_- his insecure eyes from Harry. An uncomfortable, icy sensation snaked and coiled its way from his heart to his limbs. A lock from Draco's hair came free, and Harry pushed it back, letting his fingers fall, his fingertips lingering on the beating pulse at the side of Draco's neck. To Harry, the memories of this evening were restricted to the way Draco moved and looked, nothing else.

"Do you remember the Ministry function where I saw you again after we graduated from Hogwarts? I had already fallen for you by then," Harry whispered lovingly, his hands slipping down to encircle Draco's waist. A flash of heat raced through Draco and Harry could see the hesitancy and the walls in Draco's eyes unraveling, untangling like a dress coming undone.

"R-Really? H-Haha, you should have told me earlier," Draco gulped and bumbled lamely, burying his head timidly _oh my God, Draco, shut up, shut **up**, stop babbling_- in Harry's chest and tightening his hold on Harry's shoulders.

"That's why I'm going to show it to you tonight," Harry breathed provocatively, and the mood was gradually changing from romantic and dreamy to domineering and sexual. Harry grinned, a deadly gleam glimmering in his eyes.

"T-Tonight? There's nothing going on tonight, _oh_-" Draco squeaked when Harry's thigh slipped in sneakily between Draco's legs.

"Nothing going on? I beg to differ. You're already hard, Draco," Harry whispered throatily. The ex-Gryffindor was emitting pheromones like the headiest cologne, and there was no mistaking the steaming, hot testosterone rising from both men. Harry curved his fingers around Draco's waist and pulled him even closer, that thigh of his rubbing torturously against the blond's crotch. Tremors of heat _yes, I'll beg, I'll beg in bed for you, just don't stop_- shuddered from Draco, and he let out a tiny rousing moan.

"In fact, you don't know how much I want to slam you against that wall over there and have my way with you right now. But I'll wait, Draco. I reckon the single bed in our room will fit the both of us, especially if I'm on top. I'll make a mess of you _all night long_," Harry murmured seductively with half-lidded eyes, his fingers toying with Draco's belt buckle.

Harry had expressed chagrin when there were two single beds in their hotel room instead of the double bed that he had been expecting. Draco had only smiled innocently _you only specified a hotel room, nothing about the beds_- at Harry.

"W-Who says that you can top tonight? I mean, who says that we'll be sharing the bed in the first place?!" Draco squawked, but Harry only gave him a sly, artful smile. Harry's voice was an aphrodisiac all by itself, and Draco was practically sweating with sexual anticipation. He took in Harry's shadowed eyes, the deliciously pink tongue cruising across his lips, and the hint of strong collarbone half-concealed by Harry's sexily loosened tie.

There was no _fucking_ way that Draco could resist Harry.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted Pietro glimpsing them discreetly from a corner. The blond's gaze was a colorless cover of masked emotions, but Harry didn't miss the way Pietro downed his champagne in one gulp. His narrowed green eyes sparkling with a triumphal glitter, Harry locked his glare with Pietro's, green and blue pinioning each other mercilessly. Without breaking the connection, Harry dipped his head and bit Draco lightly on the neck.

_You're mine, and no one else will **dare** to think otherwise._

* * *

No one bothered to tell Draco how _bloody _horny Harry could be when he was drunk.

It was bad enough when the man was _sober_, for Salazar's sake, Draco fumed as he stood naked and alone in the bath. Squirting shampoo on his palms, the blond scrubbed his hair thoroughly, enjoying the sensation of warm water flowing down his body in rivulets.

Since it had been too early for them to retire to their room that night, Blaise, Pansy, Draco and Harry had milled around the ballroom, with Harry sneaking furtive gropes on Draco's bum and thighs. But Blaise had challenged Harry to a drinking game, much to Draco's alarm _he's a wine connoisseur, Harry, he's used to alcohol!-. _But Harry had brushed off Draco's concerns and accepted the dare, and the Firewhiskey had flowed like a waterfall. Pansy and Draco had watched with growing apprehension as their respective dates downed glass after glass, until they were equally sloshed. When they were done, Harry and Blaise had clapped each other on the back and dissolved into bouts of braying laughter, as though the whole ordeal was some sort of testament to their manliness.

_"Blaise's so drunk, Pansy, how are you two going to shag tonight?!"_

_"Oh, that's nothing, Draco darling. I've got some special potion in the suite that'll wake him up, or more importantly, the bits that need to be up. But it doesn't seem as though Potter's got any problem with that, hmmm?"_

And then Draco had followed Pansy's gaze to the bulge in Harry's pants and the lewd, glazed over look in Harry's eyes.

"You should be making a move before he starts ripping your clothes off in public," Pansy had advised cheekily, and Draco spent an excruciating fifteen minutes lugging Harry's heavy arse up to their room, which was definitely not helped by Harry stopping every few minutes to push Draco up against the wall and fondle his bits. Even while they were stumbling, Harry had taken to twining his body around Draco's like a vine and taking every chance to rub himself rapturously over Draco.

Merlin, Draco practically had to beat the man off with a stick.

When they had finally reached their destination, Harry slammed his arms on the door, pressed his front against Draco's back and rolled his hips urgently against the blond's bum while Draco had been unlocking the door.

_"Stop it, Harry-"_

_"Oh no, I'm not Harry t'night, Draco baby. Call me… *hiccup* Humping Harry."_

The second they staggered in the room, Draco had swiftly fled to the bathroom and locked the door, ignoring Harry's hollers of dismay at having his object of lust escaping. But Harry gradually quietened down, and part of Draco hoped that the brunette was asleep.

Draco exhaled, dried himself off, pulled on his clothes and cocked his ears for any evidence of noise. His instincts sharpened, Draco softly unlocked the door and crept outside, his bare feet making no noise on the carpeted floor. The first thing he noticed was the trail of abandoned clothes that snaked their way on the floor, finally leading to Draco's bed-

Harry was leaning on his side, a hand supporting his head as he lounged on the bed like a god. The brunette was naked, except for a pair of briefs that looked like it was going to fall off any moment. He spread his thighs slightly and licked his lips slowly, his mouth parting into a lustful smile.

It was impossible not to notice Harry's erection.

Draco rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and let his breath out in a hiss. His eyes were as round as full moons as he let his gaze slide over Harry's physique like oil over water. Draco's body was answering in lust; his stomach muscles were tautening with ardor, and he dimly acknowledged that he was painfully hard. The mounting sexual tension that had been hovering between them for the past month was being stretched to insane proportions, culminating in this single evening. There was a faint whooshing sound ringing vaguely at the back of Draco's head.

Oh well, that was probably his brains flying out of his skull.

"Hello Draco," Harry purred, his silky voice like a caressing hand.

A long, sexy silence ensued, but Draco didn't make any move towards Harry. Instead, he plopped down on the other bed, burying his face in his hands. It was obvious that Harry was drunk, wasn't this equivalent to taking advantage of him?

Sadly, that choice was not his to make.

Draco gasped when Harry scrambled out of his bed, crossed the distance between them easily, placed a firm hand on Draco's chest and pushed him down. The blond's head was dangling helplessly from one side of the bed, while his legs were hanging from the other side. The blond was pinned underneath a kneeling Harry, the brunette's knees positioned on either side of Draco's hips.

"Don't be shy," Harry murmured, his eyes bright as he leered lecherously at Draco. The champagne bubbles were flitting through Harry's veins, the alcohol exploding in his blood**bones**muscles, every_fucking_where, his body roaring with sex and excitement, he could barely hold it in-

"I'm not shy-" Draco shrieked, his voice a combination of hoarse and shrill that escalated in surprise when Harry took hold of Draco's hand and dragged his tongue along the length of his middle finger. Draco lifted his head up, trying to see what Harry was doing exactly. The brunette grinned and went down on all fours, his olive-hued arms like a pair of pillars that restrained Draco's movement.

"You don't need to know what I'm doing. Just close your eyes, moan, and open your legs for me, hmmm?"

Blood was burning in Draco's cheeks, snakes of fire undulating and twisting in his belly. Draco's breath caught in his throat when he felt Harry's fingers unbuttoning and opening his shirt, felt the tip of Harry's tongue travelling from his fingers, to his palm, down the delta of veins on his wrist, up his arm and shoulder, his chest, oh _fuck_-

"Your body's so sensitive after a shower, Draco," Harry crooned in delight, his words slurred. "Let's do it in the bathroom later, I bet the echoes'll be fantastic. I'll fuck you in every room, on the floor, up against the wall, the huge window in the hall, your palms pressed against the glass while I move behind you. I'm not choosy, I'll fuck you anywhere you want. Tell me, Draco, tell me how you like it. Do you like it with the lights on or off? I'll do every damn thing to please you. On all fours, on your back, you sitting on my cock. We'll do it all tonight. You'll like that, won't you?"

Harry's words were conjuring up indecent images in his brain, and Draco groaned, his arm flung out and bunching a handful of bedsheets in his hand. The brunette kept his ministrations above Draco's waist, but it was more than enough for Draco. Harry's thumbs were stroking Draco's nipples, his tongue dipping and twisting like a cobra, meandering its way steadily down from Draco's collarbones to his abdomen.

"Why are you wearing so many clothes? No matter, they'll be gone soon," Harry said huskily, his tongue tripping clumsily over his words. Harry smiled and bit a strip of flesh on Draco's waist, causing Draco to squirm. "I think of you whenever I touch myself. I think of your body, every single inch-" And then Harry continued in explicit detail what exactly he thought of Draco, fucking the blond with his words while his hands tirelessly explored every snippet of Draco's pale flesh, slithering his fingers across heated skin, pushing a wrist under Draco's body to tease the length of his spine-

Sensation ripped through Draco and he writhed hotly beneath Harry, arching his back up from the bed. His toes were held stiff, the tendons in his neck sticking out like cords.

"You probably think I'm all talk and no cock, huh," Harry whispered, his eyes half-lidded coyly. With that, Harry shifted his arms slightly and lowered his body fully. Draco snapped his eyes open and immediately grabbed onto Harry's shoulders when Harry rolled his hips on top of Draco's. The blond cried out loud when he felt Harry's cock rubbing urgently along his own length. Harry let out a filthy growl and increased his movements with an almost animalistic intensity, his grinding body braced by his arms. The tempo of his hips matched Draco's rapid breathing, and Harry smiled lazily, his bloodthirsty, greedy eyes centering on the pale expanse of Draco's gulping throat.

He leant down and kissed Draco sloppily, his tongue going everywhere, his teeth sinking possessively into Draco's lower lip. Draco recoiled; the overpowering stench of alcohol on the other man's breath was turning him off. Grey, smoky irises narrowed when the rough calluses of Harry's thumbs pressed hard on Draco's nipples, tweaking them uncomfortably.

"Stop, Harry, you're hurting me-"

"Stop? If you really want me to stop, then why are your legs wide open for me? Why are you thrusting your hips up at me? Your mouth says no, but your body says yes. I'm taking you tonight, and I don't give a _fuck_ whether you want it or not," Harry hissed savagely, his fingernails digging painfully into Draco's ribs, leaving crescent indents on his skin. The brunette's hips were continuing their ceaseless, tiring assault, and Harry kissed Draco again, swallowing the blond's indignant protests.

_I don't give a fuck whether you want it or not_-

As though he had been plunged in cold water, a provoked _he's drunk, he doesn't know what he's doing, I don't want my first time with him to be like this, he'll forget all of this tomorrow morning- _Draco scowled. Summoning vestiges of self-control, he twisted his head away, breaking the kiss. A tussle of limbs ensued as Draco snapped, wriggled and ended up thwacking Harry's head with his elbow. With little spots of color flaming in his cheeks, he finally freed himself from Harry's grasp. The heat in his torso was fading and fizzling away at the edges. The brunette snarled wildly and was about to launch himself at Draco, but the blond grabbed a shoe and lobbed it at Harry, hitting him squarely on the forehead.

"Move any closer, Potter, and you'll spend the night outside and I won't care if you freeze your balls off!" Draco threatened, reaching for another shoe.

"Okay okay! Stop it with the shoes!" Harry caved in, nursing his throbbing forehead. The ex-Gryffindor slumped down on the floor like a little boy who had his candy snatched away from him. His back was hunched, his legs were flung out carelessly and a petulant scowl sullied his face.

"I just wanna fuck you, Draco, what's so bad about that? Everyone has sex in hotel rooms! I just wanna have lotsa lotsa sex with you until it's coming out of your ears!" Harry complained, his eyes roaming up and down Draco's arse appreciatively. "Or more specifically, until it's coming out of your-"

Draco raised his shoe.

Harry whimpered.

"You were mauling me, Potter! Go and bathe and get the stupid smell of alcohol off you!" the blond commanded angrily.

"Carry me there," Harry sniffled, his lips turned downwards in a pout. His patience fraying at the edges, Draco howled with exasperation, grabbed Harry's arm roughly and dragged him up.

"Walk there yourself!" Draco huffed, steering Harry in the direction of the bathroom. The brunette let out a plaintive whine and wobbled ahead, and in the process tripped over his discarded pants, stubbed his toe on the leg of a chair and banged his wrist on the wall.

He turned back and fixed Draco with a stubborn look.

"No humping?"

"No!"

"Not even a teeny weeny kiss?"

Outraged, Draco gave Harry's bum a swift, hard kick.

"Ow, that hurt!"

"Good!"

"I really want you, Draco-"

"You're drunk!"

"Yes, I'm drunk. But you're gorgeous. And tomorrow I'll be sober but you'll still be gorgeous," Harry blurted out suddenly, and Draco was taken aback by the unintentionally sweet statement. He blinked, surprised by the raw emotionality in Harry's eyes.

And then, Harry of course had to go and spoil the mood.

"Bathe with me, I can't scrub my back without help, pretty, _pretty_ please?"

"Scrub your own damn back!" Draco bawled, snapping back to business. With that, the blond shoved Harry unceremoniously in the bathroom, threw a towel at him and placed a set of Hangover Potion and Sleeping Draught that was available in every hotel room beside the sink. "Drink the potions and sleep when you're done," Draco said, his tone softening. The ex-Slytherin exhaled heavily and closed the door behind him. A few seconds passed before he heard Harry's muffled voice call out hopefully from the shower.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?!"

"… No!"

Draco sank into an armchair, the long-suffering expression on his face easing. He reached for a book and flipped it open, but his mind wasn't concentrating. Harry's touch was still circulating in his body like a drug. His eyes registered the crumpled sheets on the bed, and he could feel himself getting hard again. His libido was blaming him; if Draco hadn't voiced any opposition, he would probably be getting the best sex of his life tonight. But Draco knew that he had done the right thing. He didn't want this to be a mere quick fuck, something that Harry would forget when he jolted out of his inebriated state tomorrow morning.

_tomorrow I'll be sober-_

_but you'll still be gorgeous-_

Draco couldn't help but smile fondly at this, remembering how Harry had grinned at him and the affection sparkling in his eyes. However, Draco was shocked rudely out of his memory when he heard a screeching sound. Shutting his book with a clap, a frowning Draco stood up and walked to the balcony, wondering if a fight was going on in the roads. No, it seemed to be coming from… the bathroom?!

Oh Merlin, Harry was _singing_. His eyes wide, Draco padded to the bathroom, placed an ear to the door and listened.

"You're here in my heart, and my heart will," Harry warbled tonelessly before sucking in a deep breath and hitting the high notes by shrieking, "GO ON AND ONNNNNNNNNNNNN!!"

Draco gasped and shrank back from the door.

"I'm singing it for you, Draco love! Can you hear me?!"

Sweet Salazar, everyone from across the street could bloody well hear him!

Draco sat on the floor and hugged his legs, feeling his cheeks heating up in a blush as Harry shouted out the mushiest and corniest lyrics that anyone could ever imagine, throwing in Draco's name frequently. Hooking a coil of blond hair behind his ear demurely, Draco looked down bashfully, feeling the lower half of his face being engulfed by a smile.

Even though Harry's singing was absolutely abysmal, Draco wondered why he didn't want Harry to stop.

* * *

"Draco? Have you ever seen a horror movie? No? Do you want me to tell you about one?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

"Okay. It was filmed only very recently, filmed last night to be exact. It's about a brunette acting in an appalling manner to a very, very sexy blond when they were in a hotel room simply because the brunette was stupidly drunk. It started out with him being a bit aggressive-"

"A bit?! You were humping the living _daylights_ out of me!"

"Yes, the brunette has reflected on his shameful manner and he would like to convey a thousand apologies to the sexy blond. I- I'm really sorry for what I did last night, Draco."

"Hmph. Cheer up, Potter, I never said that I was angry about that."

"But I behaved in a mortifying manner! Wait… you're smiling! You liked it?!"

"Bite your tongue, I never said that! I was just thinking about the singing."

"I was_ singing_ when I was in bed with you?!"

"You were singing in the shower, Harry."

"Oh God, on top of mistreating your body I made your ears bleed too. But I think you liked last night, didn't you? I saw you drooling at me this morning when I woke up."

"… I think the apology is sufficient, Potter. It's not necessary to delve into other unrelated matters."

"Maybe there could be a sequel to the movie in the near future, eh? I mean, minus the alcohol and the singing?"

"… _No_."

* * *

"Draco, thank God you're home!"

Draco looked up from the papers, blinking in surprise when a distraught Hermione Granger appeared in his Floo. She tripped her way out and cannoned into Draco's arms, her words punctuated by uncontrollable weeps. "Your wards refused to let me in when you weren't home, I've been trying every half an hour, I didn't want to owl you because you were working-"

Draco raised an eyebrow and patted the witch awkwardly on the back.

"There, there," he said woodenly. Comforting people had never been one of his most outstanding traits. He wondered why Granger was here, of all places. If anything had happened to her, she would have Weasley or Harry-

A chill ran down Draco's spine.

"Something's happened to Harry, isn't it?" the blond said, a tremor in his voice.

Hermione sniffled to a stop and nodded, wiping her nose with a sleeve.

"I don't think Harry told you because of the wedding, but today was the Tuesday that they had scheduled to carry out an important task in their jobs. When I asked Kingsley about it after they were sent to the hospital to see whether I could do anything to help, he refused to say anything. I don't know why, I'm Ron's wife and Harry's best friend, I deserve the right to know-"

"Granger, what happened to them?!" Draco's tone had increased in urgency, and he had to clench his hands in order to stop himself from shaking Hermione in agitation.

Hermione swallowed a sob and gazed up at the ex-Slytherin, her hysterical eyes misting with a colorless hue of tears.

"Something went wrong during the mission today, Draco. Harry and Ron... they're… they're _dying_."

* * *

**/tbc**

Lyrics of Harry's alleged love song comes from Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On'. Thank you very much for plowing through this chapter! I think the reason why it was so long is because I was very eager to write it out when I was planning _Flirt_, and also because this chapter covered a lot of things. I really enjoyed writing the whole slew of new characters, both OC and canon, in this.

Oh wait, I think I'm anticipating writing Chapter Eight more…

/wink

Please do review!


	8. Fool's Gold

**Flirt by xErised **

**Fool's Gold **

I turned my imagination loose with due risk-

-but please do let me tell you that I had a lot of fun with this.

* * *

He was smiling while he was dying.

"Granger… I don't understand…" Draco bit out through gritted teeth as he absorbed the soft, wistful smile that graced Harry's _the color of bleeding cherries_- lips. Without even throwing a sideways look at Kingsley and the two Weasley children, the blond shakily fumbled towards Harry's bed, pulled up a chair and sat beside the brunette.

"Harry? Harry, it's me, Draco," the ex-Slytherin dragged forth an anemic smile and took Harry's heavy hand in his. He slipped his fingers in between Harry's fingers and gave it a light squeeze.

The smile on Harry's face faded.

A sickly feeling was congealing in the pit of Draco's stomach. Still maintaining the flimsy grin on his taut features, Draco leaned in closer and calmly placed the back of Harry's hand on his cheek. The fingers of Draco's left hand were still entwined tightly with Harry's, and Draco gently rubbed Harry's hand against his face.

"Wake up and show me that cheeky wink that I've come to adore. Wake up and call me those mushy names that I pretend not to like. Wake up and sing love songs for me again, I don't care how ghastly it sounds, just wake up. Please, Harry?" Draco mustered, the edges of his voice cracking jaggedly.

When he got no response, Draco hung his head and fell silent, his breath hitching as he left a trail of tender kisses from the tips of the brunette's fingers all the way down to his wrist, _exactly like how Harry used to kiss Draco's own hand_-

Hermione Granger gazed at her unconscious husband and best friend, her distraught children, and lastly, Draco Malfoy, whose defenses were crumbling, _crumbling_- She felt the glitter of imminent tears forming in her eyes, but she brushed them away roughly. When Draco had learnt of the news, they had hurtled to St. Mungo's without a second thought. The blond had fired questions at her like bullets, and an aghast Hermione could only swallow back her tears, berate her ignorance and whisper over and over again _I don't know, I don't know_!

Her arms were held as rigid as rakes at her sides and her lips abruptly tightened fractionally into a grim, resolved line. Steeling herself, she marched straight up to Kingsley, looked at him directly in the eye and said evenly.

"We need to talk, Kingsley."

It wasn't a question.

With that, Kingsley dipped his head somberly in agreement, his disconsolate eyes lingering over the frail frames of his two Unspeakables. He followed Hermione out of the room, but neglected to close the door. Draco could hear snippets of conversation wafting into the room and he blinked, lifting his head to listen.

"… the other Unspeakables are working overtime, pooling their information…"

"That's not good enough! I need to know what happened, you can't just do this to my family-"

"… they knew we were coming. Before Harry and Ron raided the premises, the criminals tampered with the Dark artifact at the very last minute. Both of them have taken the necessary precautions, but no one could have foreseen this, it's not anyone's fault-

"Stop sugar-coating your words! What's happening to them, why do they smile and laugh when they're unconscious, what does the artifact do, what does it _do_, stop _thinking_ so much and _tell_ me-"

"Records have shown that after being tampered with, the artifact inflicts a curse. The casualties fall into a magical coma, and most of them… they never wake up."

There was a painful pause, before Kingsley continued.

"Your children… shouldn't be hearing this."

And then the door was nudged closed.

Hugo Weasley hugged his Pooh bear tighter to his little body and burst into a renewed bout of tears when he heard Kingsley's last words. He was sitting on Ron's bed, holding his father's arm and wrapping his own hands around it, as though by doing that he could transfer some warmth to his father's cold, cold body-

"You promised us a trip to the zoo when you said this big job was done, Daddy, you can't leave us now, not now, not _ever_! Please, please…" Hugo managed through soft sobs, before hiccupping to a stop. The fur of his bear was matted and wet with his tears, and with his eyes crystallizing with leftover teardrops, Hugo tucked the bear under Ron's covers, just like how Ron would tuck Hugo to bed every night-

Rose Weasley, on the other hand, was sitting as far away from the hospital beds as possible. Her head was bowed, concealed by an unrelenting curtain of limp, red locks. Draco realized that ever since he had entered the room, Rose had never once looked up, nor were there any weeping sounds emanating from her. But when she heard Hermione's gasp after hearing Kingsley's words, Rose clamped her right hand over her mouth, and Draco could see that she was biting hard on her finger to stop herself from crying. The fingers of her other hand were curved angrily, her fingernails clawing painfully onto the arm of the chair. She lifted her head up marginally, and the blond caught a flash of pure, unadulterated fright flit across wide blue eyes.

It was as though by distancing herself physically from Ron, by keeping her emotions at bay, Rose was disconnecting herself from this scene. She was pretending that this wasn't happening, steeping herself into the denial that it wasn't her father, an epitome of security and sanctuary, _dying_-

Suddenly Ron let out a hearty laugh.

Hugo immediately jerked up to a sitting position and shook Ron's arm urgently, a glorious balloon of hope welling up in him.

"Daddy? Are you awake?"

Rose swung her head up, and it seemed like she was going to haul herself up from the chair and cross over to her father, but Ron remained chillingly motionless. The laugh rang out like a death knell, dissipating into the stale, sterile air in the hospital room. The remnants of the smile gradually wilted on Ron's lips, and it was as though nothing had happened at all.

Rose fell back laboriously into her chair, that same dull, stoic expression burdening itself on her features. Hugo's face was drained of color, and he wiped angrily at his eyes before lying down stiffly on the bed, resuming his position as his father's guard.

The conversation outside was still continuing in heated, fervent words, Hermione and Kingsley's voice muffled by the closed door. Draco itched to know what was going on outside, but he didn't want to leave Harry, just in case _anything, something, I don't care, just show me that you'll wake up, Harry, Harry_- happened.

Draco tried to keep a clear head and reassure _it's only been a few hours, he'll probably wake up tomorrow morning, laugh it off, dust himself off, he's Harry Potter, for Salazar's sake-_ himself. There was no room or time for tears right now, the only thing he could do was to keep vigil at Harry's bedside and hope that it'll turn out right in the end.

But worry still had their tentacles twined around Draco like the deadliest miasma. Distress and disbelief was frittering throughout his system, and he exhaled ponderously.

Draco jumped when Harry's arms moved and sailed through the air. It was as though he was opening a book and flipping through it, the fingers of his left hand curling around the spine and his right hand turning the pages. Draco stared, his own hands gripping the rail of the bed tightly. A glacial smile was stitched on Harry's lips, that _scourge_ of a smile that sent bolts of shock and alarm rocketing down Draco's spine, it was the smile of the _living dead_-

There was a soft click as Hermione entered the room alone. She was different somehow, as though the little girl _I've got to be strong for my children_- in her was sick of crying. The witch sat down beside Draco. A few uneasy moments passed before Hermione broke the silence.

"They were supposed to retrieve the artifact and try to figure out a counter-curse. How ironic, isn't it?" She said caustically, her lips twisted in a sour smile. "Kingsley told me that Harry-" The sentence petered out, and Hermione looked down to her lap. Her fingers were fidgeting in unease, and Draco frowned darkly, determined to press on and obtain some answers.

"Harry what?"

"He got the brunt of the attack, so Kingsley said that Ron would probably be the first one to wake up. _If_ they wake up, that is," Hermione said bitterly as an afterthought, a wry, strangled laugh escaping from her. The heads of her children snapped up in horror _if even Mommy gives up hope, then what does it mean_-, their eyes round islands of bleakness. Draco caught the movement and patted Hermione's hand consolingly.

"They'll be fine. I'm sure of it," Draco said confidently, but Hermione could see the hesitancy in his hooded grey eyes.

"Does Shacklebolt know why they act like this, with all the sudden laughter and the smiles?" Draco asked quietly, his eyes not straying from the prone figure of Harry.

"He couldn't tell me much, saying it's top secret," Hermione said, giving a snort of derision. "But what I could wring out from him is that their minds are stuck in another world, in another dimension where nothing is what it seems. Terribly vague, I know, but if they don't manage to escape…"

_where most of them_-

_never wake up_-

* * *

It took three painful days for her to break.

The dank, musty ghosts of moonlight crawled its way through the windows, casting subdued and flattened strips of gloam on the hospital beds. A bitingly harsh wind whipped the branches of the trees outside, and Rose shivered, curling herself up tighter into a small, vulnerable ball.

She hugged her knees and rocked herself back and forth on the chair. Draco sat a short distance away from her, a fatigued hand resting on Harry's wrist and his head lowered down to Harry's blankets, keeping his breathing steady. Rose shot a furtive look in Draco's direction, and apparently satisfied that he appeared to be sleeping, the young redhead turned back to her father and marshaled her thoughts before speaking in clear, lucid tones.

"It's Friday today. Do you remember how you'll chase me out from the study every Friday evening and say that only boring girls do their homework on Friday nights? And then Mommy would… Mommy would…" Rose stopped suddenly and closed her eyes, mulishly relegating her tears to the backseat. She reached out and ran her fingers briefly over the neglected stubble that grazed Ron's jaw.

"It's not funny anymore, Daddy. Mommy's so sad. She tells me she's got something in her eye when it's obvious that she's been crying. Hugo and I will be going back to school next Monday. Mommy thinks that we've missed enough school this week, so please wake up during the weekend. It's going to be Saturday tomorrow. Saturday morning's Quidditch and pancakes day, do you remember, Daddy? You promised to teach me the Wronski Feint. It's not the weekend without you," Rose whispered, her words starting to take on a brittle, jerky quality while she tugged urgently on her father's sleeve.

"I'm sorry if I made fun of you whenever you tried to help me with homework. I won't laugh if you get my answers wrong. I'll help around with the housework more, I won't gripe about Hugo's soft toys being tossed all over the place, I won't do any of that anymore, I promise, just wake up, _please_-"

That was the last word she croaked before she let the tears fall, her voice shattering into sobs while a rainfall of tears streamed unheeded, drizzling and trickling down her face and nose, an admission of defeat. She had been holding it in for so long, but ugly reality had sunk in, and she had finally acknowledged that there could be a chance that her daddy might not be coming back.

It was the first show of emotion that Draco had seen in Rose.

_she's crying_-

_for the two of us_-

Draco straightened up, rotated his neck and pulled his shoulders back, easing the kinks out before slumping his weary body back on Harry's bed. He had been burning the candle at both ends. As the days bled arduously into each other, Draco had been shuttling back and forth between his office, the hospital, and barely spent any time at home, except to take a short shower and flopping straight to bed.

The Healer assigned to the two men had noted a change in Ron; there had been slight color returning to his cheeks, but the Healer had expressed mild dubiousness whether it actually meant anything. However, upon hearing the news, the Weasley family had breathed a tiny sigh of relief, their hopes of Ron defying the odds and being on the slow and steady road to recovery further cemented.

But Harry's complexion still remained sallow and pasty.

Draco could almost taste the desperation gnawing away at him.

_take every single moment that we've ever shared_-

_and don't you ever forget_-

The blond stood up, lifted Harry's head carefully and fluffed up his pillow. He took Harry's hand in his and kissed each knuckle slowly, savoring the soft heat pulsing from the brunette's body. Maybe this was a sign, some sort of indication that Harry will pull through this. When Draco accidentally stumbled onto this thought, he chastised himself. There was no need for any divine intervention for Harry to be fine, because Draco knew, he just _knew_-

But he couldn't gather the staunch confidence to fuel those consolations.

Draco sighed and interlaced their fingers together, his thumb stroking the inside of Harry's wrist meditatively. Squaring his shoulders, Draco frowned and rattled Harry's hand. His words came out in a solemn, yet mellow manner.

"You promised me two months. It's going to be our last week next week. Don't you _dare _leave me hanging like this."

* * *

"Draco, where are you?"

"Just woke up, I'm on the way to the hospital. Granger called me and said that-"

"Have you _completely_ forgotten, Draco? Today is the Saturday that we always meet up to review all of the work that we've done for the month! I've been waiting in the office for you for the past half an hour!"

"Shit, it slipped my mind. Sorry, Millicent, I'll get over there right now-"

"Listen to me. I've been trying to cover as much as I can for the past three days, but some of our clients are still displeased that you're not around as often. You're rushing off to the hospital every few hours, and as a result, you've missed out on a few last-minute meetings. My apprenticeship with you doesn't allow me to handle the big cases yet-"

"But I… can't leave him there, Milly…"

"Draco, there's a clear line between personal issues and work, you told me that right at the beginning-"

"Owl the urgent documents to Harry's ward. I'll work on them while I'm there. If there are any meetings that I can't attend from next week onwards, send the summarized accounts to Pietro and ask him for his attendance-

"Pietro _Labelle_? Are you sure-"

"Yes, I'm positive. I'll see you in the office in five minutes."

* * *

He had missed it.

He had only managed to reach St. Mungo's in the late afternoon, and by then Ron's bed had already been emptied and tidied, all wrapped up in its spotless, perfect little package, waiting for the arrival of a brand new patient. Apparently Ron had managed to lurch out of his coma that Saturday morning. He had blinked groggily for a few times and sat up slowly, a clenched fist gripping the side of his head. As expected, the room had erupted into a commotion of noise, sound and movement, and Ron bundled his small family up joyously in his arms.

_"Daddy? Daddy! Daddy!"_

_"I-I'm not dreaming, am I?"_

_"No, you're not, Ron, oh God, I'll have to tell Mom and Dad straightaway, they've been worried out of their minds-"_

_"I-Is that really you? Hermione, Rose, Hugo? I can't believe it, I'm finally out of that nightmare… Harry! Where's Harry, is he fine?"_

But even before he could scramble off his bed and scamper towards his best friend, the nurses had quickly wheeled him off to carry out general tests on his health. The Healer had finally announced that everything seemed to be fine for Ron, with his only prescription being lots of rest and as less stress as possible. Ron had then raced straight back to Harry's ward and fretted over the brunette, with his whole family in tow.

Before Draco went to visit Harry, the blond had dropped by Ron's new ward. The nurses shifted Ron from his original room to another one, mainly to keep him for observation. If nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, Ron would probably be discharged the next day.

_"I'm sure Harry will wake up soon, Malfoy. Look at me, I'm fine now, aren't I?"_

_"Yeah. I know he will. Weasley, what… what's been going on in your mind for the past four days?"_

_"I'll tell Kingsley and the team everything so that they can find a counter-curse for Harry, but I… don't want to talk about what happened."_

_"Fair enough. Rest well."_

It was so quiet and cold here.

When Ron had still been in this room, Draco was almost always accompanied by a Weasley. If it had been Hermione, they would embark on some light chit-chat. If it had been Rose, there would be little or no conversation, but both of them were secretly comforted by the gentle presence of another conscious person. Hugo had once padded sleepily up to Draco and mumbled how cold he was, before tumbling and falling sound asleep in Draco's astonished arms.

He had never known how nice it would be to hold a child like that.

Granted, he had almost dropped Hugo, but the blond had quickly righted the redhead's small body. Hugo wrapped his small arms around Draco's neck and cuddled the blond, all the while dozing peacefully. Hermione's eyes had widened in sheer surprise and shock when she saw her son in Draco's arms when she returned with their refuel of coffee.

_"Do you want me to hold him?"_

_"I… it's alright, actually."_

When the strain finally got to Draco's arms, the ex-Slytherin delicately dislodged Hugo's grip around his neck, walked over to Ron's bed slowly and meticulously deposited Hugo with his father, careful not to wake the boy up. And all the while, Hermione had watched Draco with a small smile on her face.

But it was different now, wasn't it?

Loneliness, so similar to the nipping wind escaping through the slats of the windows, stung Draco's skin. He looked at Ron's empty bed, and it was as though it was mocking him. Draco shifted his gaze to Harry's frightfully still figure. The blond felt like a tenacious sentinel, taking up post and standing guard against an uncertain future of _HarryDraco_-

It was so quiet and cold here.

Draco scooted closer to Harry, his left hand taking its usual position around Harry's wrist and his other hand editing a dossier of proposals. A half-eaten sandwich lay abandoned a short distance away from Draco's set of quills.

"Hey."

The blond looked up and saw Rose standing there in the doorway. She tilted her head, smiled at Draco and trotted in. She placed a bowl of steaming hot soup on the table, flipped the cover open, dipped a spoon in it and presented it to Draco.

"Grandma made it specially for you. She knows that you visit Uncle Harry all the time, but she never sees you eating. It's not much, but it'll keep you warm through the night," Rose said matter-of-factly.

"Harry… he used to bring me soup all the time," Draco said quietly, letting out a sad little laugh.

Before he knew it, Rose cannoned straight into Draco's arms, much to his bewilderment. He caught the crisp scent of flowers in Rose's hair and he blinked, baffled.

"Uncle Harry will finish the two months with you. He's just like Daddy. The both of them have never broken a promise before. So don't get all sad 'cause Uncle Harry will continue bringing soup to you, 'kay?" Rose said, her face buried in Draco's shoulder and her voice muffled.

"Thank you. And… please thank your grandmother for me," the blond's lips curved up in a half-smile as his arms rose ineptly to circle Rose in an awkward resemblance of a hug. Draco was touched by the simple gesture of kindness that Mrs Weasley showed.

Rose drew back, and Draco could still feel his body tingling delightfully from the affection of her hug. The blond took the bowl of soup from Rose and held it calmly in his hands.

It was so, _so_ warm.

"Would you like me to stay with you for a while?" Rose asked softly, throwing a disdainful look at the desolate half of the room.

"Won't your parents mind?" Draco said, his brow furrowing. But it did sound rather nice to have someone else with him…

"They're fine with it. They know I'm with you," Rose answered, grinning at Draco. "Give me a while." With that, the redhead dashed out, her long batik skirt trailing after her. Draco raised an eyebrow and took a small sip of the soup, reveling at how it slowly seeped its sunny, summery way through his system, rejuvenating his jaded blood and exhausted muscles.

It didn't take long before Rose bounded back, her arms laden with copious sheets of notes and blank parchment, a handful of textbooks of varying thickness and her own collection of quills.

"I've got two tests on Tuesday and Thursday. I almost forgot to do my revision," Rose sighed. She dumped her studying paraphernalia on the table, fished out a single book, a quill and parchment. She pulled out a chair and sat beside Harry, giving his hand a longing squeeze. Tossing Draco one last reassuring smile, she flipped the page open to her bookmark and began to read.

And so they stayed, Draco and Rose protectively flanking both sides of an unconscious Harry, each equally engrossed in their own work. The air was silent except for the diligent scratching of quill against parchment and their steady breathing. Sometimes Rose would cluck in annoyance when she made a mistake, and the room would resonate with sharp snaps whenever she released her long hair and hooked it up in a conscientious ponytail.

Funny how the room didn't seem to be so, _so_ quiet anymore.

* * *

Harry flung out an arm, grabbing hard onto the wrought-iron gate in front of him. He stayed motionless for a while, willing the giddiness in his head away and forcing the nausea back down. It felt as though he had been transported to this place by a particularly violent Portkey. Harry shook his head to clear away any remaining cobwebs of queasiness. He slipped off his glasses, wiped them on the hem of his shirt and put them back on.

It was then that he realized that his wand was not with him.

The brunette frowned slightly and began to take stock of his surroundings. He looked to his left, right and back, seeing nothing but whitewashed walls that shimmered and rippled as though someone had dropped a pebble in a pond.

Harry stuck a finger out and prodded the wall.

It was hard, unyielding and solid.

Funny how he didn't feel claustrophobic at all.

The only way was forward. Inhaling deeply, Harry curiously studied the ornate, gilded gate that barred his way. Behind the gate, there was absolutely nothing at all, like a barren sweep of completely vacant and vacuous canvas.

Inquisitive green eyes roamed and darted all over the intricate workmanship of the metal monstrosity. There were no handles on this enormous abnormality of an obstacle. Harry lifted his head and squinted. There were a string of Latin words inscribed at the very top of the gate that he could not decipher. Twines of metal vines snaked and crept all over the shafts of the gate, along with leaves and flowers that looked strangely like venom-tipped arrows and defiled faces with smiles sutured on them.

Harry cautiously wrapped his hand around a segment of the gate.

It was warm to the touch.

The ex-Gryffindor knotted his eyebrows in puzzlement when he noticed names at the lower half of the gate. He crouched down and scrutinized the words carved in elegant, flowing **kuh-kuh-krreepy kuh-kuh-krrawly-** font. The names sounded familiar to him, and he tried to recall where he had come across them before, but it was like something in his brain was blocking access to this vital information. Harry rapidly ran a finger across the sunken ridges of the names, and ended up stopping abruptly when he stumbled upon his own name, etched at the very tail of the cord of names.

Harry jarred the gate forcefully, but it refused to budge. Biting his lip, Harry haltingly dragged his finger down the gate shaft with his name.

It swung open obediently.

Harry swallowed and wiped his clammy palms on his jeans. It didn't make any sense at all, how was he going to walk into white?

But he had nowhere else to go.

With that fact, Harry stepped over the threshold **into pleasing phantoms and worshipped wraiths-. **The world spun, spiraled and swayed to its own momentum, and Harry could only watch, gob-smacked, as the scene rearranged and molded itself into a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors and motion.

**now it's pher-purr-perfect for you, Harry, uh-oh-only you- **

It was utterly, completely, _amazingly_ beautiful.

Thumbprints of cotton-candy clouds drifted happily in the cornflower-blue skies, each cloud sparkling and twinkling down at Harry as though smooth satin and glossy silk had been blended seamlessly into their gossamer ribbons. Puffy hand-folded paper stars twitched, beamed and glowed, their five points dancing and twirling in the sunny sky. The sun's rays were like prized, ethereal gold. Splashes of light bubbled and burst on blades of vibrant emerald grass.

Something dark and oily slinked from shadow to shadow right behind Harry. But before he could flick his head back, the sun shifted directly in his focus, blinding him momentarily. Harry flinched and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the hot glare.

_but how can the stars and the sun-_

_co-exist like this-_

Transfixed, Harry moved deeper into the panorama, his eyes drawn to the lively garden. Gravel crunched enticingly under his feet as he shuffled forward. As if catching himself, Harry quickly bolted back to the gates and pushed _in case, just in case_- them wide open.

The garden was as colorful as a painter's palette. Angel rainbow leaves dotted the landscape, all of their colors running together, but not smudging, creating a whole new hue that Harry had never laid eyes on before. Butterflies zoomed and flitted gaily from corner to corner, and Harry laughed. Flimsy petals of the daintiest dandelions and daisies were lined with sterling silver and brilliant bronze. Other flowers nestled together, gazing flashily up at Harry, as though vying for his attention.

It looked as pretty and innocent as a fairy tale.

Harry smiled and stroked a floury petal, relishing its unique texture on his fingertips. He could detect the refreshingly clean scent of dew and mint. The birds overhead swooped, their wings drawing artistic arcs in the sky. They serenaded Harry with their dulcet, musical tones, the last elegant notes lingering sweetly in the air.

It was a feast for the senses.

Harry wouldn't really call it a building, simply because it wasn't big enough. Calling it a cottage would be more suitable, he thought as he veered back to the path that led to the prominent and proud house.

He paused.

The sun was concentrating all its beams onto the house, spotlighting it. The stars were congregating near the roof, beckoning Harry. The protective umbrella-like branches of the trees, together with the vibrant faces of the flowers, were pointing towards the same direction. The birds and butterflies roosted peacefully on the crown of the trees, their bodies turned towards the house.

It was as though every single thing was holding their breath for Harry to enter.

_Well, at least it's not one of those dark, forbidding mansions, and it does look rather inviting_, Harry thought to himself. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry plodded forth, followed the rigorously straight path, hopped up the six precise stone steps and stepped gingerly into the house.

Behind him, a misty dusk mingled and tormented, marring everything in sight. Black lightning roiled and spluttered in the skies. Thunder rumbled in the distance, sounding frighteningly like a gurgled cry. The crystal, snowflake designs of the stars exploded savagely, raining down shards and splinters of glass.

**we'll tempt you in-**

**just to spit you out- **

The delicate, frail dewdrops that were poised gracefully on tips of grass gradually mutated into globules of blood. The branches of the trees morphed and sharpened into cutting claws and switch-blade serrated talons. Beneath them, the petals of the flowers wilted and fell off, replaced by teeth that chomped hungrily at thin air. The leaves on the floor shriveled up, their once-fluorescent color weeping, draining out in a glutinous clump on the ground. They burnt resignedly into black flakes, crumbling beyond recognition.

Their masks of perfection were withering like slain harlequins.

The wings of the butterflies snapped off one by one, as though a child was disassembling all of his toys after having played with them. Whatever that was left of the dismembered butterflies collapsed to the gaping grass and contorted in agony. The birds regarded the wriggling butterflies with red-rimmed and jaundiced eyes, their voices whining to laryngitic croaks.

**all of our playthings in our precious playground of purgatory-**

The deceptively friendly smiles had receded, leaving nothing but cruel leers in its place. Every single shred of attention was glued to Harry's retreating back-

-Harry, the only one who was _truly_ alive in this world.

The fairy tale veneer was finally chipping.

* * *

It was a hallway.

On his left, beautiful stained glass windows **designed to bring you in but not to let you out-** let in colored light filtered from outside. There were three doors to Harry's right. They were plain, mahogany doors that were exactly identical in appearance.

It was a dead end in front of him.

His heart thumping with trepidation, Harry warily tried the first door. It opened easily, but Harry didn't enter. He walked towards the second door and twisted the doorknob.

It didn't move.

Harry wasn't surprised when the third door refused to budge. Apparently he had to go through the first door, and then the second door before he could gain access to the last room. A small creak escaped from metal hinges as Harry quietly opened the first door, apprehension and expectation lacing his veins.

It was toasty warm and cozy.

There were red embers of a dying fire in a fireplace. It looked like the hall of a typical house. Sprawled messily on a huge table were inky newspapers in an inscrutable sea of black and white, stacks of paper and parchment, crayons, color pencils and quills. Harry's eyes sharpened when he noticed something vaguely familiar perched at the top.

It was his very first Hogwarts letter.

Harry smiled beatifically, taking in the ink that flowed in cursive, ebony streams. The brunette remembered the wonder, the amazement that he had felt when he had finally managed to open the letter. He rifled through the documents, and with a jolt, Harry discovered that the heaps of parchment were actually his old Hogwarts homework. He quickly uncovered a thick bundle of parchment and let out a wry laugh when he recognized his own handwriting, much messier than usual since it was a Potions essay.

A simple drawing scudded out of the litter of papers as though it had a mind of its own. Harry fished it out, his eyes widening as he absorbed the picture. There were three stick figures scrawled out in a childish manner with crayons. They were holding hands in a tight-knit circle, the little boy cradled lovingly in the couple's arms.

It was Harry, together with his parents.

Harry stood there for a while, greedily soaking up every detail of the drawing. He had taught himself to bottle up the heartache that he felt whenever he saw Ron's small family spending time with each other. Sometimes, he simply felt that he was an outsider, a third wheel intruding into their family life. At other times, whenever he spied fathers carrying their sons on their shoulders in the streets, Harry would try as hard as he could to brush off that feeling of _want_.

Even though many years had passed, it still hurt.

Harry sighed and replaced the drawing, his mind valiantly moving on. He walked towards a bookcase. An assortment of books were stored; business books, novels, a manual of Quick First-Aid spells, school textbooks and picture books for young children.

In short, the selection of books encompassed the needs for a regular family.

Harry shifted his gaze next to the amassment of toys that was laid neatly in rows. There were lovable elephants, hefty stuffed bears, plump pillows and an assortment of dolls, their eyes a bit too large for their porcelain face. The ex-Gryffindor threw a cursory look at them before walking away.

Unbeknownst to Harry, the eyes of the dolls widened even further as their hawkish gaze followed Harry beadily around the room.

Harry stopped at what looked like a kitchen island. On the counter was a hodge-podge of items. A garland of flowers, like what a young girl might make, lay at the edge of the counter. There were pancakes folded skillfully into the shape of roses, drowning in an ocean of honey and butter. Pastries such as gooey chocolate chip brownies, sugar cookies studded with colored sprinkles of hundreds and thousands, dainty little cupcakes and nut-brown madeleines were stacked as high as skyscrapers, imprisoned in their little silver trays.

They were practically begging to be eaten, but there was this startling little voice that fought dauntlessly to be heard in the undercurrent of Harry's thought process-

_don't eat anything_-

_because beneath all the confetti and gloss and sparkle_-

A wooden spoon was jammed in a bowl of batter, and juicy, scarlet strawberries were swamped in a cup of fresh milk. Powdery marshmallows drifted aimlessly on four mugs of steaming hot chocolate. There was a box right in the middle of the island, resplendent in copious pink ribbons that scintillated as though covered in dozens of gems. Harry flipped it open, and gasped.

The squiggly frosting on the cake read _Happy Birthday, Harry_! The eleven candles were molded into the alphabets of Harry's name and wonderfully infused with bright lovely pastel colors, such as peony pink, midnight blue, sunshine yellow and lime green. Doused with an overdose of contentment, the brunette beamed widely and gazed lovingly at the cake for a long moment, a soft, dreamy smile on his lips. His finger hovered an inch above the frosting, but he quickly withdrew and snapped the lid over the box decisively.

Harry caught a twinge of exotic scent, a remarkable combination of flowers and chocolate that conjured up portraits of beautiful blonds, but Harry couldn't quite place a finger on it, because **because this place is where happiness is taboo- **

Harry threw one last longing glance around this room which showcased the generalities of a happy childhood and exited it, clicking the door closed behind him.

A chimera of darkness whipped behind Harry, dogging **if we can puh-puh-play with our food buh-buh-before eating it**- his footsteps before melting away soundlessly in the walls.

Harry glimpsed up at the windows, wondering why it seemed to be evening _I only spent a few minutes in there_- outside. The ex-Gryffindor couldn't distinguish any real danger, so his guard was let down as he swung open the second door.

Unlike the first room, this room was sparse and barely furnished. Only a single chair and a table, with four items placed on top of it, were positioned in the heart of the room. Harry walked over and sat on the chair with his back facing the door. There were grooves and arches imprinted on the table that fitted the four mementos perfectly, leading Harry to assume that the table had been created specially for this purpose.

With shaking, nerveless fingers, Harry lifted up the photograph album that Hagrid had given to him during his second year. He had lost count of how many times he had stayed up late, furiously turning the pages and crossing his fingers, hoping that the more he stared at the photos, the more his parents could come to life-

His insides contracted with undiluted longing as he devoured each picture hungrily, the yearning in him so strong, so true that he was almost _choking_ on it-

A tub of lemon drops and a bar of chocolate without its wrapping lay next to the photo album. Harry rolled a lemon drop in between his fingers, hoping that maybe he could snatch a last peek at that gentle, all-knowing twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes. The brunette scrunched his eyes shut and buried his head in his hands, nuances of nostalgia _all of them were my father figures_- worming through his mind. Harry clenched a fist around the squares of chocolate, breaking them up, wishing that he could hear Remus's melodious voice again, that firm, yet soothing murmur urging him to eat the confection to ward off the Dementors.

The last artifact was the two-way mirror that Sirius had given him. Harry breathed on it and wiped the condensation away with his sleeve. He gazed dimly into it and whispered Sirius's name, knowing that nothing would happen no matter how many times he said it, no matter how many tears he wept-

A grey eye **the stage is- **peered through the mirror.

"Sirius? Sirius, is that you?" Harry yelped, his hands quaking and his own eyes out on stalks.

The eye held Harry's gaze intently, before swiveling slowly **finally- **to his left.

Harry's head whirled in that direction, but he could see nothing. There was only the wall that led to-

"The next room? Is that what you're saying? All of you will be there? Is that it?" Harry babbled, gulping as he shook the mirror impulsively.

The eye blinked **set- **once.

Without even hesitating, Harry charged out, his hand gripping the mirror so tightly that indents formed in his palm. His heartbeat was quickening in blurry anticipation _to talk to them, to see them, to touch them, I would give anything_- and disbelief _how can it be, how can the dead return_-, his breathing rapid and heavy with emotion. He paid no heed to the lashes and whips of twilight and midnight stalking his footsteps, Harry was totally and completely immersed in his fatal fantasy-filled frolic-

He swallowed, his footsteps sounding oh-so-far-away in his own ears, his eyes forced wide open, pinioned unwaveringly and mesmerizingly on the third door with the certainty of the _unhinged_-

The Mirror was spotlighted.

Harry licked his lips, wetting his throat which suddenly felt as dry _would they come out from there_- as flour. Tingling waves of energy were sent to his extremities as he staggered towards the Mirror. He remembered the cravings, the sheer desire he had felt when he had stumbled upon the Mirror of Erised in the first year. If it hadn't been for Dumbledore, he probably would have driven himself demented every night with those visions, that pining for an intact, proper family-

The full-length Mirror in front of him looked similar to the Mirror of Erised, but he knew deep down in his bones that this was an entirely different artifact all together, a more powerful entity where everything was bigger, everything was _better_-

It didn't take long before the Mirror spurred to life.

Lily was devastatingly beautiful in her wedding dress and her peaches and cream complexion. Her hair flowed in a corona as Lily and James said their vows in lilting, matching voices. Their eyes were alight and brimming over with sheens of youthfulness and love, James was saying something cheeky with a charming raise of his eyebrows, and Lily was laughing, no, everyone was laughing together, and then their cheers were washing over Harry like the softest caress of the sea, and then everyone was clapping, and Harry could see Remus and Sirius, and there was-

Harry's eyes were dazed, mossy lakes of amazement _I've never seen any of this before_-, a gnawing hunger rumbling in his belly that food could not satisfy. The scenes in the Mirror were like a never-ending bag of sweets. He clawed at the Mirror thirstily like a chained wild animal, absorbing each episode of his parents' life, their first date, Harry's birth, the both of them doting and fussing over a toddling Harry-

But the scenes had picked up speed, whizzing, accelerating too fast for Harry's hungry eyes to catch every desperate detail, climbing up to a crescendo of fury, suddenly peaking to a climax, _why, why, slow it down, please_, Harry begged, his face mottled with distress as he could no longer make out what was happening anymore, the figures, the colors running and bleeding together like water flung on a still-wet painted canvas-

And then it paused.

It was the image of a 27-year-old Harry, with his grinning parents standing nobly behind him. Harry pulled himself closer to his family portrait, sweeping his hair out of his eyes and simply stared at the reflection, his face so close to the Mirror, so paralyzed_captivated_bewitched-

Suddenly there was a deafening smashing sound.

Harry scrambled back in time just to see a human skull being hurled at the Mirror. The brunette watched in abomination as the skull broke the Mirror right where Harry's _heart _was supposed to be-

The Mirror ruptured viciously into fractions, vanishing in the chaos of its ruined images. Each scrap of glass slumped on the arctic _when was it this cold, I don't remember-_ stone floor, siphoning the color of the tiles before dissolving right into the very ground, leaving only the fragments of violent dreams that were never meant to be-

**ssssalutations from your nightmare- **

Harry felt like he had been startled from the deepest and most delicious of sleep.

The haven of sunny moments had turned cruelly on its head as muted objects in the room that had been lying in wait suddenly took on a sinister demeanor, coming to life as though answering the call to **kill**, cornering him, rearing their ugly heads-

Crimson liquid **an abattoir of curdling bloodbath where we buh-buh-butcher- **glistened disturbingly on the walls.

A stirring of dread slowly writhed its way up to Harry's chest, and his heart was beating frantically like a bird trying to tear out from its cage. He felt danger like a dagger to his throat, and piece by piece, his illusion_delusion_**HALLUCINATION** was burning like cinders and charcoal, shattering like china against cement **do you not feel the beauty hiding behind the smiling thorns- **

Something was hovering above Harry's head like a rotting vulture.

A snakeskin of unidentifiable words was coiling right into his ear like the deadliest Parseltongue, but Harry knew it wasn't, it wasn't _anything_ at all-

**e-vuh-vuh-verything that you've held dear crumbling in your hands like ash**-

Suddenly there was this snake winding **it- **around his neck, tightening **has-**, twisting **only-**, that black whirlpool of pressure **just-** at the back of his head that was a cross between consciousness and unconsciousness **begun-**. Harry panted and tried to pull the snake away, but he ended up grabbing empty space. The girdle around his neck released as suddenly as it had come, and Harry took in great heaving gulps of air, one hand massaging his throat. The air in his lungs, the blood in his veins, the warmth in his heart was vanishing like daylight, only leaving blank, feeble terror in his wake, and Harry wanted to close his eyes and wish himself away, but he knew that he couldn't, because-

He can't close his eyes because he knows that he will never wake up.

He felt Sirius's mirror being pried roughly away from his fingers. Harry shouted in protest, but the mirror levitated itself up in the air and exploded in a firework of glass. Harry immediately raised his arms, warding off the shards, but they managed to bite mercilessly at the back of his arms and elbows. Harry winced and looked down, smelling the ferrous tang of fresh blood. The wounds weren't deep, and Harry knew that skin injuries were the least of his problems now.

Something was moving in the room towards him, something that Harry could sense but couldn't see, their very breathing blighting the air around him. All of his fears were distilling, _condensing_ into this split second moment, horror oozing down his face like melting wax, and then something was toppling down on him, disabling him, like a large, ubiquitous hand from high up above was controlling everything like marionettes, and then, and _then_-

Harry screamed.

* * *

**/tbc**

Apparently there was some issue going on with Chapter 7 last week, because you guys got the Story Alert only 18 hours after I updated. To clarify things, I update every Friday mid-late afternoon to evening (depends on your time zone).

How will Harry get out of this alive? Hmmm…

/giggle

Please do review! (:


	9. Grim Reaper

**Flirt by xErised**

**Grim Reaper**

* * *

"Why is he bleeding?"

Draco immediately tossed his quill down, pushed his paperwork away and hurried over to Harry's bedside when he heard Hermione's aggrieved whisper. Beside her, Ron frowned, circled his fingers around both of Harry's wrists and lifted his arms up. Tiny, random nicks of red gashed the inner arms of the brunette, as though Harry had been defending himself against _shattering glass_-

A snarled little groan escaped through Harry's gnashed teeth. His head was forced awkwardly to one side of his pillow, and Draco could see the way the tendons in his neck stuck out like cords. A gulf of pain crashed its way across Harry's features as he continued to bleed with vigor.

Worry swirled and tumbled in Draco's veins like the most potent poison while he ran out of the room to summon a Healer. When he saw no Healer in sight, Draco hissed in dismay and dashed _why is no one around, there's always someone_- through both ends of the hallway, his heart sinking like a dropped stone with every rushed step. Finally, he spied a trainee Healer out of the corner of his eye.

Draco practically pounced on her.

"Where's everyone? Where's Healer Wright?" Draco bit out impatiently, his words staccatoed with annoyance as he dragged the girl back to Harry's ward.

"They're all at a meeting! Where're you bringing me to! Hey, _hey_!"

Meanwhile, Ron had his lips pursed thoughtfully while he gently flicked a finger through Harry's wound, drawing a streak of his friend's blood on his fingertip. The redhead rubbed his forefinger and his thumb together speculatively, his eyebrows drawn together in curiosity.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, anxiety building up in her eyes.

But before Ron could answer, Draco and his quarry burst into the room. The ex-Slytherin relinquished his grip on the girl and gestured to Harry heatedly.

"He's bleeding. Do something!" The blond ordered imperiously, crossing his arms and surveying the nervous trainee with critical eyes. Behind him, Hermione stood up, concerned.

The girl paled as she took hesitant steps towards Harry's bed. "I would recommend some spells to stop the bleeding, but…" She trailed off when she picked up Harry's chart and studied it, biting her lip in apprehension. "He's in a magical coma, I can't… I apologize, but I'm not the right person to ask. You'll have to wait for Healer Wright to exit from the meeting-"

"Wait?! If I wait anymore he might be dead already!" Draco thundered, advancing on the trembling girl. His eyes were narrowed into slits and incandescent with indignation. Fierce, destructive spurts of anger were rising up rapidly within him as he regarded the girl with bubbling contempt.

"Do you know how long he's been like that?! Almost a _week_! And now, he's bleeding for no reason at all, and you're telling me that I've got to wait! Get in that _fucking_ meeting and get Wright for me. _Now_," Draco fumed, his features fogged in inexplicable irritation.

"I- I can't just barge in like that-"

"Then what can you do?! Fine. You're just a lowly trainee. I get it. Get Harry in the biggest, most important ward in this whole hospital and I want Wright to make Harry his first priority every _damn _second of every_ damn_ day. Money is of no concern. Is that something that you can do? _No_?!"

Ron and Hermione watched, their eyes wide with both awe and fear as a rabid Draco hit danger levels of rage and fury.

"I'm n-not in charge of administrative m-matters-"

"Then find someone that is! I expect Harry to be shifted by today, and I expect Wright to come and meet me as soon as possible! If that doesn't happen, I'll_ tear_ this fucking hospital down, and no, I don't _sodding_ care about its heritage and history and whatnot, I'll just tear it down and build a brand new hotel here as fast as you can say St. _fucking _Mungo's!"

"Draco, that's enough. I'll talk to someone else," Hermione finally piped up. She kindly wrapped her arms around the terrified girl and spoke in soft, soothing tones as she led her out of the room.

The blond let his breath out in a sibilant hiss and passed a hand over the ridges of his gaunt face. He felt so fucking crippled, so useless. He didn't need to look at Ron to know that the redhead felt the exact same thing. Ron had been desperate to return to work to find a counter-curse, but Kingsley had refused outright, insisting that Ron fulfill his three days of medical leave. Ron had stepped in the office only to give Kingsley a commentary on what he had felt during his own coma. Little progress of searching for the counter-curse was made, since Ron and Harry were the main Unspeakables in charge of the case. One was still mired in his coma, while the other one was barred from work.

Draco growled and kicked the bed in a surprisingly frank show of frustration. Still bristling, Draco yanked open a drawer and snatched a clean towel. He sighed heavily and began to dab tenderly at the first few cuts and bruises _scarlet seeping through snowy bedsheets_- that peppered Harry's left arm.

"Malfoy. Don't clean him up," Ron suddenly said. Draco scowled and glared at Ron, then tilted his head when he noticed Ron's eyes glittering oddly.

"And leave him there like that? Have you gone utterly mad, Weasley?" Draco sneered. The blond barely gave Ron another look and continued wiping at the brunette's injuries.

"I said don't clean him up!" Ron snapped, flaring up. He crossed over to Draco with two easy strides, grabbed the towel roughly from Draco's hands and threw it hard onto the floor.

"What the fuck's wrong with you!" Draco lashed out viciously, his eyes sharpening with ire. He stood up and met Ron's upset blue eyes head-on. The air was clogged with adrenaline and tempers were running sky-high.

"You don't know anything about the case, Malfoy, so don't you _dare_ argue with me-"

"I don't see you helping him in any way, do I?!" Draco retorted hotly. He had been bottling his aggression up, and it would probably feel _bloody_ good to finally let it out. His jaw jutting out combatively, the blond took another step towards the other man and folded his arms, displaying his patented haughty expression that he knew irked Ron to no end.

"How dare you say that, Malfoy-"

"Ron!"

Hermione's sharp whip of a voice jerked both men out of their haze of testosterone. With that single word, Hermione had managed to defuse the situation. She hastily stepped in between Ron and Draco, her arms held out like a referee. Still glaring daggers at each other, both men retreated to their respective seats.

"Healer Wright will be here in ten minutes and Harry will be moved by this afternoon," Hermione said calmly.

"Thanks," Draco mumbled, suddenly shame-faced at his earlier immaturity. One quick glimpse towards Ron told Draco that the redhead felt the same. The blond scooted nearer to Harry and rested his upper body on Harry's bed. Draco's gaze locked pleadingly onto Harry's closed eyes.

_It's already Monday._

_Just when are you going to wake up?_

* * *

It was like a film put on pause at the very last, exhilarating minute, that precarious, heart-stopping moment that kept him teetering on the cliffhanger of danger. The scene was fizzing in and out of focus, messing up his brain and his sight all at the same time, and then in that split second of redemption that was granted-

_that cheeky wink-_

_that I've come to-_

_adore-_

It was his last minute of reprieve. Everything suddenly slowed down around Harry as though they were moving excruciatingly slow in water, while the brunette jolted his legs into motion, his body limbering up like he had been released from a numbing curse.

Harry lunged up to a staggering run, his feet slapping hard and fast against the cold floor. He knew that he had little time left before everything snapped back to clarity and lucidity. With trembling hands, the brunette twisted the decaying metal doorknob of the third room and dashed towards the main door. The windows of the house showed the darkest and the bleakest black outside, causing Harry's breathing and heartbeat to pick up speed. All he had to do was to exit this hellhole of a house, run straight to the gates that he had yanked wide open, and then _why was the door not opening?!_

Harry rattled the knob desperately, but it refused to budge. He swiveled back and stared _does it mean that I've got to enter those two before it'll open_- at the first two rooms. He turned to his left and let out a shriek.

Large, full-length mirrors had replaced the windows, just mere seconds after Harry had glanced at them. They were funhouse mirrors, those wavy, distorted mirrors that were omnipresent in carnivals. They were disorientating him, dizzying him, distracting him the longer he stared at them. Dangerous, indistinct thoughts that made the backs of Harry's knees tremble lurked within the frames of the mirrors, drawing him in, sucking him in and amplifying each and every grain of distress to colossal proportions. The mirrors whirred to life, and the scene of Lily and James' wedding was playing again in all the mirrors, but this time, the eyes of his parents were replaced by two black, cavernous pits that seemed to blaze right into his paralyzed soul, their smiles stitched and sutured onto the lower half of their faces-

Harry recoiled, his back pressing unbelievably close to the main door, his fingers scrabbling uselessly on the icy stone. The brunette suddenly shouted wordlessly when he felt the door behind him open just a fraction. But even before he could pry the opening further, the door clicked resolutely shut. Discordant notes oozed steadily from the slat between the door and the floor, plaguing him with every passing second-

He didn't know what it was, whether it was human, spirit or malevolent ghost that was excavating his fears like this. His energy was being sapped **it-**, his body was being enervated **has- **with every smoky slither of noise **only- **that curled and coiled around his legs **just-**, and it was moving up to his hips, his everywhere-

The door of the third room creaked open **begun- **maliciously.

Harry could see no one exiting from the room, but he could feel, oh how he could feel **because it's so much easier to be scared of something that you cannot see- **

They were attacking him from both ends.

Harry fought off the fatigue and weariness with as much vitality as he could muster. Alarm bells clanged deafeningly in the back of his head. He scurried to the second room and slammed the door behind him.

The scenes, formless and flinty, congested the room like the most acrid smoke, a never-ending slideshow of death and misery that clutched hard and took siege in Harry's whimpering mind. There was Dumbledore, falling lifelessly off the Tower like a discarded rag-doll, and more, _more_-

The bleached remains of Harry's long-lost skeletons that skulked and lurked behind barricaded doors finally broke loose, performing their ruthless ambush with shocking accuracy. Every memory now stung like an open, bleeding wound, complete with the scars of the deepest sin sunken into his skin **they died because of you, all because of you-**. However much as he wanted, Harry couldn't tear his horrified gaze from the scenes in the blind hope that he could salvage something from the wreckage. And there was Sirius losing grip and collapsing into the snapping, gaping maw of the Veil-

It was a stagnant museum of things that he couldn't quite remember, yet never entirely forget.

**won't you cry for us, Harry-**

**won't you die for us, Harry-**

The voices were like splintered shadows tossed mischievously around the four walls, voices that were gradually gaining an efficacy and vehemence of their own, playing their own secret games that involved a lot of **whispering, shhhhh, whisper, don't let him hear, it's so much more fun that way-**

His parents were the crowning glory.

Harry rubbed his eyes as though he wanted to gouge them out, and he hung his head, feeling something warm and wet _tears of rust_- dribbling down his cheeks. He relived the disaster of the death of his parents **so much green, ava-avada-avada-kuh-kuh-davra**- and Harry's toes twitched in his shoes, as though he wanted to run towards his mother to shield her from the curse-

The darkness was phasing through the walls.

Harry could stay there and drown in the pounding surf of memories that hurt like a million bloodied, biting kisses, or he could obey the visceral, guttural, primal instinct that sliced hotly through his spine-

_get the fuck out._

The brunette swiped roughly at his eyes and clambered out of the second room. Without even throwing a backwards glance, he threw open the door of the first room and scrambled inside, his heart palpitating fast and hard as to what was next in the queue of terror that awaited him eagerly-

It was total devastation.

Cobwebs danced and shimmered with macabre joy, concealed cleverly in the dark recesses of the bookcase. Spines of books and tombs were ripped out, scattered on the floor of the room like corrupted gold dust. The candy-pink wallpaper had been brutally torn out, peeling from the walls in heavy, filthy chunks. Only flaky, black paint lingered on the walls, encrusted and caked with thick layers of grime and soot.

The milk on the counter had gone sour and rancid, the strawberries were bleeding an ugly red metallic color that made Harry's skin crawl and sputter like fat on the pan. Worms wriggled and writhed gruesomely **we'll feast on what's left of you, oh my love, my love- **in the cupcakes and brownies, accompanied by hordes of ants that basked in the remnants of sweet drinks that had spilt to the sticky floor. The table and the fireplace were littered with shards of carelessly abandoned broken beer bottles.

The house was withering and wilting, having an eerily unlived feeling, as though it was haunted by the stale ghosts of a thousand deaths-

Harry's neck twinged neurotically as he swept a frightened gaze through the hideous, desiccated remains of his imaginary childhood. He was weeping freely now, his nose running and copious, colorless tears leaking from his narrowed eyes. His fists were clenched in agitation, his fingers buried in unkempt tufts of black hair, his sanity slipping like smoke through petrified fingers, unable to hold it in_ I'm going to die here, I'm going to die-_

Harry heard the clawing, shredding sensation of flesh being sliced from pearly bone, and he jerked his head towards the row of dolls. Their mouths parted in a cacophony of silent yells as they regarded Harry with glowing, piercing, bloodstone eyes. Their smooth, porcelain limbs had been amputated, their prettiness lopped off mercilessly, stubs of fake hair had replaced their ponytails, the grinning expression on their faces were now substituted for angels with dirty faces. The birthday candles that had originally been on Harry's birthday cake were now spiked through the dolls, through their cheeks, their temples and their stomachs-

This was how the parents of this world passed down their heirlooms of death.

And now the army of dolls was crawling on their torsos towards Harry like big, juicy, white maggots, their hypnotizing eyes focused intently on a panting, immobilized Harry-

_but not for long-_

Harry summoned up as much strength as he could and scrabbled out of the melee. He let out a deranged wail and heaved the main door open _it's going to be fine, the gate, the gate, get to the gate-_

Funny how the gate seemed to be much, _much_ further.

**we didn't expect you last this long-**

**but no matter-**

**what's up next won't go wrong-  
**

The stars overhead glimmered with black humor, scattered carelessly amongst the horrifyingly dim sky that rumbled threateningly. The skies were colored a marbled yellow and purple, just like how a bruise would look. The shape of a dog and a werewolf flickered like lightning in between gloomy, funereal clouds. The house that Harry had just ran out was no longer the cozy cottage that Harry thought it originally was; instead, it had mutated into a forbidding, vile mansion that towered wickedly above Harry, sending haunted barbs of fear puncturing their way through Harry's heart-

Beneath the suffocating cover of the heavens, the trees turned their trunks creakily towards Harry. Their branches were like accusing, sinister fingers that pointed relentlessly at Harry. The brunette backed away, but not before he saw-

The wedding attire of Lily and James were hung dully on the twigs of one particular tree. Sinuous vines slowly slithered and devoured their way up the legs of James' pants and the frilly hem of Lily's beautiful dress. They snagged and shivered and seized, as though they were in paroxysms of pain, his parents, his parents _strangled_-

**take harry, please, leave me and james alone-**

Harry clamped a hand over his mouth, the air cupped in his palm vibrating with the force of his muffled scream _no, they loved me, they loved me! They died to protect me, they died, they died because of me,_ **because of you, Harry- **

Beside him, a delta of lightning, skeletal and lethal in nature, snapped and cracked just inches away from him, destroying something in his peripheral vision. Harry leapt back like a frightened rabbit and looked up in escalating panic.

Meteors of liquid, boiling-hot lemon drops were slowly beginning to spout from the skies.

Harry gasped and retreated, stepping back neatly into a waiting vine. It looped itself cleverly around Harry's ankle and yanked him to the ground. Harry screeched and grappled helplessly **we'll luh-luh-love you with your hands tied**- at the sullied soil, his fingers sunken as deep as possible into the earth, his elbows trying to gain some sort of purchase, some sort of resistance before he fell prey to soul-sucking death-

**in this obscene dirt of the dead-**

**it's about time you've made your bed-**

"Let me go, please, _please_!" Harry yowled, looking back fearfully with round eyes. Glistening, sharp teeth that had replaced petals of flowers gnawed and chomped ravenously on thin air, their intensity and frenzy increasing when they caught a whiff of pure, full-blown terror and Harry knew that he was going to be eaten alive-

**t'nod eb deracs-**

**ev'ew enod siht erofeb-**

A scalding torrent of lemon drop landed on the vine, severing it fully. Harry could feel the grip on his ankle slackening as the vine shriveled up, siphoned the color of the dirty brown soil before fading away into the dirt. Harry quickly shook the vine off, shunning its treacherous snare. The meteor had narrowly missed Harry's feet, but he could still feel his toes tingling with sheer, molten heat.

**death is but-**

**the next great adventure- **

_No, not now, not like this!_

The world was closing in on him.

Harry dodged the approach of another vine, and then he was running, following the path set out for him. He felt as vulnerable as a pinned butterfly, with death coming at him from all perimeters and angles. Hysteria and dread was thundering in his blood like a swarm of wild beasts, there was something tearing through his hair, tearing through the ends of his jeans, rasps of little threads unraveling from the hem of his shirt, but he didn't stop, he _couldn't, wouldn't _stop running, because he knew that if he did-

**suck out and devour your soul and turn it upside down-**

**oh no, can't you wipe off that p-r-e-t-t-y (itsy bitsy teeny weeny) l.i.t.t.l.e frown? **

Dangers slinked and cruised out of the corner of his eyes, but he failed to register them, his legs keeping up the pumping adrenaline, the monotonous rhythm of _moving, because when you move they can't catch you_- But still, darkness was keeping pace, stalking him with the spurn and spite of a cruelly jilted lover, the wind whistling maniacally in his ears, and Harry was so sure that he would crash, running as though the hounds of hell were chasing him. But it seemed to be getting harder as though he was being pulled back by shadows, as though he was wading thigh high though the thickest, most viscous mudslide of _chocolate_-

It was a heaven where they collected infections of the souls.

Midnight and twilight, both loathsome guards of this wretched world, dogged and dragged at the soles of his feet, but Harry soldiered on with incredible, almost _inhuman_ determination, his teeth gritted and his fists balled. And yet, that snake of a voice-

**in this place where we sell wishes with a high price: (your) soul**

**be it bat//tered bro- -ken blud_geoned brui-ssssssed it wouldn't matter we'll take them-**

**all**

**and keep you+yourtears here**

**for all etuuuuuuurnity**

Harry didn't know how, he didn't know why, but he managed to reach the hallowed gates by the skin of his teeth simply by a slip of a miracle. Sobbing with relief, the brunette clutched at the shafts with both hands and shook it wildly.

It was locked.

**the grand finale's starting, did you like the scenes we penned-**

**but it's such a shame that you won't be around to enjoy the end- **

Harry's eyes flitted around the gate, his hands wandering and pressing on every available crevice in a wildcat desperation to unlock it _I've gotten this far, I can't stop here, I can't-_

An hourglass was perched right at the very top of the gate.

Harry had never seen it before.

Grains of time cascaded through the tiny slit, and judging by the rapidly diminishing pile of silvery satin sand on the higher tier, Harry didn't have much time left. His heart was beating with echoes and visions of the horrors of death and insanity and _filth_, and he slumped down, so tired, too tired to _think_, to breathe, so _tired_, and that rope of snake was tightening and closing around his neck, squeezing bit by bit-

_How did you get in?!_

Sinking wearily to his knees, Harry located his name on the gate and dashed a finger across it, his heart jumping marginally with mild solace _this is it, I'll be out-_

Nothing happened.

An abused shriek tore savagely from Harry's throat and he lifted his eyes up to the hourglass, whole-heartedly expecting the sand to have flowed through, the curtain call of his death sentence descending-

The hourglass was frozen in place.

The pressure around his neck ebbed fractionally, before vanishing completely.

Shocked, the brunette sat up straight and stared _what does it mean, the key's got to be in the names_- at his name again. He ransacked his mind with renewed vigor as he studied the long succession of names. The roadblock in his brain seemed to have alleviated, and he felt it all rushing and crashing back into crystal clarity-

These were the names of all the people who had surrendered to the Dark Artifact and who were still trapped in their magical coma up to this very day.

And his own name was right there, right at the very end. It seemed to have been carved in pencil, but irreversible, irrevocable ink was slowly seeping in to fill the cracks and traces of the penciled marks, starting with the crucifying curl of the _H in Harry_.

"No, no, _no_!" Harry screamed and rubbed violently at his name, feeling the heat gather in between the space of the metal and his finger. But the ink still continued to flow gleefully, it was now at the _R_-

The hourglass was still halted, so it had to mean that he had done something right. Harry clicked his fingers together desperately, his unwavering eyes still glued onto the ink, _J in James_-

Harry licked his finger and dragged it on the gate. The ink paused for a split second, but continued its relentless assault, _P in Potter_-

Harry looked down at his arms. His cuts on his left arm seemed to have been wiped dry of blood, and Harry frowned, knowing that he didn't clean his wounds. However, pinpricks of blood were still present in the tiny nicks on his right arm, so he quickly streaked some on his finger and pressed it against the gate.

As though its very nature had changed, the crimson liquid startled into life and flooded the grooves of his name, forcefully pushing the ink back. Emboldened, Harry continued to draw blood from his injuries and smear them on his name.

_shed some blood-_

_and we won't drag you through the mud-_

_this is your last salvation-_

_against eventual death by asphyxiation-_

The gates swung open.

Harry lunged up to his feet and threw himself over the threshold.

Behind him, the hourglass cranked back into motion, the fine sands of ethereal time trickling in it once more. Harry gasped _it's not over yet, is it-_ and bolted urgently forth.

His vision felt like it was being obscured with a haze of heat. There were five doors in front of him, and they were gradually gaining momentum and spinning, not unlike the doors at the battle of the Department of Mysteries so long ago-

"What am I supposed to do, it's so loud, I can't hear myself, I can't hear anything, let me go, let me _go_!" Harry howled, his palms braced on his ears, and that black,** black** voice invading his consciousness, but yet, he could detect something softer, gentler, something more _human_-

_it was brilliant, there was Mum and Dad fussing over a younger me, and then I was on the first train ride to Hogwarts with Harry, it was our first meeting during our first year, and Hermione was there too… I was Head Boy, Quidditch Captain... Rose and Hugo were all grown up and getting top marks in school, I breezed easily through the Unspeakable tests, even though everyone said that I might have difficulties with it, everything was so real, so perfect in there, then suddenly George was there, telling me that if I went to the last room Fred would come back to life-_

_but it wasn't like that at all, I saw so many corpses, so many dead bodies, it was the last battle with Voldemort and everyone was dead, Mum, Dad, Harry, Hermione, they were all dead, only Voldemort was left, only I was left, don't tell me it's fine, that it's all just a dream, Kingsley, because it's not, it was so real, and the anger, the pain, this debilitating horror taking over me and I couldn't, I was so scared, so scared that I would be all alone for the rest of my life, don't you understand?!_

_I couldn't wait to join all of them, I couldn't wait to die together with the rest of them-_

_and then I heard Rose's voice, whispering to me, and suddenly Fred was there, protecting me, saying something like you're not taking my little brother like this, and then I woke up._

_just like that._

Something else trilled in Harry's mind. The words were softly murmured, a sharp contrast to the agitated shouts before. The voice rolled gently around his ears, each word like an unsung melody, but containing the same amount of pain and anguish, crackling like a broken promise-

_you promised me-_

_two months-_

The voices were coming from one of the five doors swiveling in front of Harry, helping him in the battle against the realms of insanity. The air around him was whirling, swirling, hurting like a dozen paper cuts on his skin. He thought he would be confused, but-

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes focused on that particular door like how a marathon runner would gaze intently at his finishing line. He ran and plunged himself through that door, and he heard an unearthly banshee scream **no, no, no, he would have been so delicious- **slipping through his fingers. Harry had successfully breached the twisted nether of the two dimensions that cut intimately into each other. There was this blinding flash of green light, no no, not _avadakedavra_ green, but-

_Lily _green.

* * *

"You should have seen it, Harry," Hermione laughed as she ladled out fish porridge. "He transformed your ward into a makeshift office! And that poor trainee Healer! She was practically in tears after being yelled at!" Hermione finished, her eyes shining with amusement.

"He did all that?" Harry said, incredulous. His body was bathed in a warm, misty feeling, and the brunette grinned goofily.

"Draco really cares about you," Hermione said softly, handing the brunette his lunch.

"Yeah, I know," Harry agreed, his mouth splitting into a wide beam. The brunette rested his gaze on the enormous bouquet of flowers that Draco had sent. Each rose was as big as a cabbage, and Harry's grin widened when his eyes dropped down to Draco's card, written in the blond's neat and precise handwriting. Harry's stomach did a little wriggle of delight and he sighed blissfully, loving how his heart felt like warm, melted butter.

Still smiling like a madman, Harry took a mouthful of porridge. Suddenly he blinked and sat straight up, as though he had remembered something important.

"Did Draco eat?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Now that you brought it up, I rarely saw him eating during the first few days. But Mum brought some soup for him, and I sometimes pack some food for him from home," Hermione said, tapping a finger on her lip speculatively. "Do you need a change of bandage?" The witch asked abruptly when she saw Harry's hand crawling up to his other arm and absentmindedly scratching his wounds through the bandages.

"No, it's fine, really," Harry reassured and instantly stopped scratching, even though his bruises were still itching like mad. Hermione gave Harry a searching look, and he averted his eyes, choosing to look down at his porridge. The recurring nightmares that he had every night would probably go away in a while, Harry hoped. Hermione had taken too much time off work to care for Harry and Ron, and the last thing Harry wanted to do was to make Hermione fret unnecessarily.

"Well, this week's the end of the two months, isn't it?" Hermione said cheerfully, pulling a chair up and sitting beside the brunette. "Have you thought about where to bring Draco for your last date?"

"I'm seeing him on Saturday, so that probably gives me four days to think about that. I was thinking of something simple, yet really romantic. You know?" Harry said, wrinkling his nose.

"Maybe you can treat him to the expensive dinner that he missed out on the very first date. Candlelight, flowers, the works. And this time, no missing out on the reservations simply because Draco could have been there before!" Hermione said cheekily, wagging a finger playfully at Harry.

"Yeah, I know," Harry agreed, his lips hiking up into a delighted grin.

* * *

The hotel restaurant was high-ceiling and chandeliered.

The pair was sequestered away in the VIP lounge of the restaurant. The booth was as private as possible; filmy muslin curtains the texture of satin separated both men from the common crowd. Beeswax candles bestowed a seductive amber glow over the starched white tablecloth of their table, highlighting the sparkle of scrupulously polished cutlery and refined crystal champagne flutes. A cooled bucket, filled with an appropriate amount of ice, held an unopened bottle of champagne.

Draco glimpsed cursorily at Pietro Labelle, then speedily jerked his head away when he realized that Pietro had been eyeing him up all the time.

"Eating more than last time, haven't you?" Pietro pointed out breezily, raising an eyebrow at Draco's near-empty plate. The older man finished off his wine and pushed his own plate away, which was still half-full with filet mignon.

"I hardly think that it's any of your concern anymore," Draco coolly shot back with an equally smooth rejoinder as he rebelliously polished off the last piece of his steak.

Pietro didn't bother to retaliate. Instead, he smiled, his teeth glinting dangerously in the light. His smoldering blue eyes were midnight sultry, hot and intense while he let his honeyed gaze slide and slip up Draco's hands and neck, every curve, every contour of irresistibly illuminated skin. That little furrow in between the younger man's brows, the way he fastidiously avoided Pietro's piercing, penetrating looks spoke volumes to him. Yes, Draco was nervous and intimidated, but it wouldn't be long before Pietro put him at ease. Pietro knew Draco's body as well as the back of his own hand, having caressed every inch of pale, unblemished skin. He knew exactly which part of Draco's body to touch, to lick, to nibble that would reduce Draco into a helpless heap on the bed.

"You look so tense, Draco. Let me bring you up to our room."

It wasn't a question, nor was it a statement.

The words hung stickily in the air, and a quiet lull, crackling with expectation, ensued. Pietro's eyelids were held hungrily at half-mast, his eyes sizzling with ecstatic physical promises. His voice was like light silk, his smile was that of a sinner's.

Five years compared to a measly period of two months.

It was laughable.

A muscle twitched in Draco's jaw. How many times had they done this? When they were still together, Pietro would utter those same words. Draco would then jump at the chance and they would grope and fondle their way up to their hotel room. Pietro would decorate his body with marks and bites and fingernail indents all over, showing all and sundry that _Draco is mine, and mine alone_- there would be hell to pay if anyone dared to challenge Pietro for his property. They would fuck like a pair of teenagers, their moans and wails bouncing off the four walls as Pietro teased and sucked Draco to oblivion.

Until a stray owl or a business-related phone call distracted Pietro from Draco's needy, gasping body, of course.

Draco's cheeks were a deep scarlet as he recalled their trysts, and Pietro's predatory grin spread further. In return, Draco dredged up a ragged smile. He tugged his napkin out from its napkin holder and dabbed demurely at his lips.

"I apologize, but I'm due at Harry's soon. He's just recently been discharged, and I've promised to visit."

Pietro let out a snort of deprecating laughter, a haughty, avuncular expression poised on his features. The elegant cufflinks on his sleeves gleamed wolfishly as Pietro raised his elbows up and rested them on the edge of the table. He pressed the tips of his manipulatively long fingers together and licked his lips, a slight smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.

"You should be grateful that I didn't destroy you for what you've done to me," Pietro murmured, fully delivered with a chilly smile that didn't reach all the way up to his eyes.

"You should know by now that you can't intimidate me like this. I've cleared it up straight from the start. This dinner is purely business to thank you for being on call when you rendered your help in my place two days ago in the Monday meeting while I was in the hospital," Draco answered, standing his ground. Draco's thin lips were held as taut as a tightrope, and his glittery grey eyes stared back challengingly.

"Funny. I don't recall teaching you to mix your personal life with your work," Pietro commented, his eyes narrowing marginally.

"People change. Have you forgotten that that's what you taught me too?" Draco riposted fluently, not missing a beat. "I'll get the bill on the way out. Good night, Pietro," Draco said, hauling himself out of the booth. The ex-Slytherin stalked out with his head held stiffly and didn't bother to throw a last glance at the other man.

Astute blue eyes prowled like a bloodthirsty panther across Draco's body, up and down the ramrod tightness of Draco's spine, his hips and arse, that paragon of absolute, imperial perfection as Draco walked away. Pietro's smile frosted over before evaporating altogether. He tried to quash his disappointment, but jealousy, as corrosive as acid, dripped virulently onto his heart. Desire was scrabbling and clawing in Pietro's belly like a wild beast. His fingernails played a crafty drumroll on the table and a small spark of triumph registered in his eyes when he remembered the blush staining Draco's cheeks just minutes before.

_the higher they are-_

In a smooth, fluid motion, Pietro bent over and blew out the candles. He sat there silently for a while, his eyes scheming and sly in the sifting shadows. Pietro Labelle rarely lost, especially not to a small fry such as Harry Potter. The blond had learnt how to trick, negotiate and maneuver the pawns and chess pieces of life to _guarantee_ that he had the checkmate in every single game.

_the harder they fall-_

And he was done biding his time.

Pietro smiled again, a formidable barracuda smile that was devoid of warmth whatsoever.

A lot of things were going to happen on Saturday.

* * *

**/tbc**

Do you think it'll end quietly?

Oh no, I don't think so.

Review! (:


	10. Coming Undone

**Flirt by xErised**

**Coming Undone**

* * *

It couldn't technically be considered breaking and entering, could it?

Harry tentatively poked his head out from Draco's fireplace. Draco had knocked off work early today, and his Floo wasn't blocked, so Harry reckoned that the blond should be home. Harry stepped out and tilted his neck, his ears pricked to detect any faint sound of the shower being in use.

But the house was quiet.

The brunette shrugged at nothing in particular and placed the bowl of mushroom soup on the table in the hall. Keeping his footsteps light and silent, Harry made his way to what looked like Draco's bedroom.

A still figure was all wrapped up snugly to his shoulders in a fluffy duvet. Harry drew closer, his heartbeat quickening in anticipation. He greedily eyed Draco's side profile. A naturally serene smile was poised on his lips, and Harry swallowed. He squeezed his hands into fists, loosened them gradually and stuck out a hand to thread his fingers through Draco's blond tresses.

Draco let out a little sigh and wriggled fractionally, causing the top of the duvet to slide down his shoulder.

Or more specifically, his _naked _shoulder.

Harry's brain melted a bit.

The ex-Gryffindor's fingers slid down Draco's locks of hair to the side of his face, the backs of his fingers ghosting across the blond's cheeks. A thumb tenderly traced Draco's strong jaw-line before resting on his jugular vein. The tip of Harry's finger slowly descended to the ridge of Draco's collarbone, and Harry smacked his lips. Harry's gaze wandered to his surroundings, before noticing a rumpled shirt, a belt and a pair of pants draped neatly on the back of a chair. Harry's eyes dilated in desire, his mind inching towards thoughts of Draco all nice and naked beneath the sheets. Harry hooked his fingers under the edge of the duvet, thinking how easy it would be to pull the covers back and check once and for all whether Draco was really, truly, _gloriously_ naked-

The minute that thought barged its way into Harry's head, the brunette immediately recoiled, wringing his hands behind his back. What was he _doing_, practically _molesting_ the man in his _bloody _sleep! No, this wouldn't do, this would not do _at all_! Harry was a fine and upright gentleman, and gentlemen did not touch naked men while they were sleeping!

The poor brunette started to pace heatedly, his hands folded across his chest and his teeth gnawing agitatedly on a fingernail. But well, if he thought more and more about it, it has been quite some time before Harry had seen Draco, and he missed him to bits. Also, Draco was always dressed in clothes that revealed little to nothing, and many a time had occurred when Harry's hands had itched to undo a few buttons of Draco's shirt.

Asking Harry to restrain his libido when he was around Draco was like asking a sugar addict to abstain from candy and chocolate; it just could not be done! This was a golden opportunity, and it wasn't as though Harry was going to touch Draco, no, nothing of that sort! Just a quick little peek, and then he'll flap the covers back on straightaway. Draco was still sleeping like a baby, and there was no way that he would wake up that quickly, would he?

With that, Harry sighed dreamily, his green eyes glazing over with lust and his mind scampering far away to a multi-orgasmic fantasy that involved Draco, him, a bowl of melted chocolate and lots and lots of licking.

The bubble suddenly popped and Harry painfully snapped out of his reverie. He thwhacked his temples with his palms and chided himself for even _thinking_ filthy thoughts like that in Draco's home! Okay, he was going to leave right now, at this very second, go home, indulge in a good wank and return two hours later, when Draco would be fully awake and clothed.

Yes, that sounded like an excellent, more _respectable_ plan altogether.

Harry closed his eyes, summoned a superhuman amount of self-control and let out his breath heavily. He threw a last, longing look at Draco-

The duvet had slid down from Draco's shoulders to the middle of his arms.

Utterly miserable, Harry walked to the front of the wall and thumped his head on it in sheer anguish.

Draco unconsciously frowned at the sound and turned his head slightly towards Harry. Pale fingers curled and fidgeted around the top of the sheets before pushing them away clumsily. The ex-Slytherin emitted another sigh, a louder and a more sensual one this time, and Harry quickly clamped a hand over the crotch of his jeans surreptitiously.

Harry could hardly believe his luck.

Acres and acres of creamy, unblemished skin were practically begging to be touched. His self-control fleeing out of the window, a drooling Harry advanced upon a slumbering Draco. He felt mild disappointment when he saw that Draco still had a pair of black silk boxers on, but besides that… Harry drank in the image of Draco's half-nude body like a parched traveler that had been marooned in the desert.

Fuck, this was going to be perfect wanking fodder for tonight.

Harry had to stuff his fist into his mouth to stop himself from giggling gleefully out loud at that thought.

The sheets had been lowered to the middle of Draco's thighs. His eyes hungry and hot, Harry circled over, his roaming gaze drifting over the seductive arch of Draco's lower back and his slim silhouette. Yes, Draco was a bit on the thin side, but hell, the man still had a fantastic body. Harry ran a hand through his hair and moved closer, his eyes lowered and dropping down to his favorite part of Draco's anatomy: his fit, firm bum.

Harry stood there and admired it for a while. The wolfish brunette grinned and wandered back to Draco's front, gawking at Draco's hips and yeah, just a _bit_ lower down, _mmhmmm_-

Well, it couldn't be helped if Harry had _accidentally_ tripped on something and in the process _accidentally_ landed right on top of Draco, could it?

Harry released a silent cackle at that thought.

The brunette's features melted into a heavenly smile. He bent down, staring shamelessly and intently at Draco's crotch. No, he couldn't see a damn thing, but if he shifted just a bit closer, crooked his head at the right angle, maybe spread Draco's thighs just a teeny little bit, slip a finger underneath the waistband of those boxers and slide them off inch by inch, did he dare to do that, _no_, probably not, because at this very moment, Harry was content just to fantasize, _fuck_, he could almost make out something real _sweet_ under those silky, sexy boxers that were practically shouting _takemeoff takemeoff_-

"Harry? I-Is that you? What are you doing?"

…

Oh,_ bollocks_.

Springing up as though he had been electrocuted, Harry fixed on a watery smile and let out a rather hysterical laugh.

"Oh, nothing much, actually, _ha ha ha_! Your bedsheets seem to be a bit dirty, that's why I was bending down to have a proper look, I can send them for cleaning if you want, _ha ha ha_!" Harry babbled, panic apparent at the fringes of his voice and a hand rubbing furiously at the back of his neck in embarrassment.

Draco shook his head and roused himself up from his sleeping position, his blond hair fanning out like a messy dandelion puff. Yawning, Draco blinked sleepily and rubbed his eyes, his brain still numbed from sleep.

"It's only Friday today. I'm due to meet you on Saturday. And my sheets are fine, I just had them washed…" Draco mumbled and rubbed the tops of his arms absentmindedly. "Hang on…" Draco's mind clicked back into normalcy and he chased the spirits of sleep away. Harry's face was flushed a bright pink and the brunette was looking bashfully down at his feet. And it was then that Draco was aware of his nakedness and the covers flung all the way down…

Realization dawned.

"You _pervert_!" Draco bawled, groping aimlessly at the bed. Harry squeaked with alarm and raised his arms when Draco lobbed something at his head. Harry caught it neatly with his hands.

It was a dragon in the shape of a soft toy.

"Is this yours?" Harry asked incredulously, fixing it with an astonished look.

"None of your business," Draco mumbled darkly. He hauled himself out of bed and snatched it back, hugging it to his chest protectively. A soft blush clouded Draco's cheeks as he grouchily yanked the duvet up and covered himself in it. Grinning cheekily, Harry toed off his shoes and stubbornly climbed into bed with Draco, his chest pressed mulishly against Draco's back.

"Don't be mad, Draco. You know how much I miss you. Besides, I didn't touch you at all. You removed the covers yourself, and you can't fault me if you move a lot in your sleep," Harry murmured in a placating, honeyed tone. Draco huffed in reply, but his body relaxed into Harry's embrace, and the blond sighed softly, leaning back and resting his head on the other man's shoulder.

"Go on, tell me why you have a toy dragon in your bed. I promise I won't laugh," Harry beamed and said seriously, planting a gentle kiss on the slender curve of Draco's neck.

"Back when I was in my second year, all of my friends had soft toys that their mothers made for them. Pansy had a snake, Vince and Greg had matching monkeys. I really wanted one too, and I'm afraid that I threw a huge tantrum about it when Mother said that she was absolutely horrible at sewing. She offered to buy as many as I wanted, but well… I only wanted one that was handmade.

"The subject was dropped eventually, but one day Mother presented this toy dragon to me. The workmanship's far from perfect, I know, but Mother really put a lot of effort into making this for me. On top of that, this was one of the few things that I could salvage before we fled from the Manor," Draco finished quietly, smoothing back a patch of ruffled fur on the dragon's snout.

Harry tugged the toy from Draco's hands and studied it. The dragon wasn't exactly small; it was big enough to be cuddled. It had originally been an even emerald-green, except for its striped belly, which was a paler shade of green, but some of the color had faded throughout the years. A long tail dangled from its body, studded with tiny black thorns that were soft to the touch. A pair of wings fluttered weakly when Harry turned it over in his hands. One of its paws was bigger than the other, the wings were not aligned and some of the stitching had unraveled, revealing little tufts of stuffing inside.

"It's rather cute, in a wonky sort of way," Harry remarked, returning it to Draco. "Oh wait, so that's why you acted all weird when you were talking to me about Hugo's Pikachu! What's its name?"

Draco muttered something that was too low for Harry to hear. When Harry pressed further, Draco let out a long-suffering sigh and replied, his face flooded a mortifying red.

"Squiggles."

Harry stared slack-jawed at Draco. "Are you serious? I thought you'd name it some ferocious name like Claw or… Dante, perhaps! But _Squiggles_?!" Harry managed, before bursting into peals of raucous laughter.

Draco's spine stiffened, and Harry hastily wrapped his arms tighter around the blond. "I'm not making fun of you, honest. It's just a surprise, that's all. I think it's completely adorable. Just like you," Harry whispered, interlacing their fingers together and squeezing lightly.

Draco bowed his head, a shy, mushy smile concealed behind his affronted expression and squeezed back.

"Why are you back home so early?" Harry asked, plucking the dragon from Draco's grasp and plonking it on his bedside table.

"I had a headache just now. It's better after sleeping for a short while. And how did you know that I've reached home so early? Have you been stalking me again?" Draco smirked smugly, a lazy pout gracing his lips.

"Stalking?! Of course not!" Harry protested, flustered. "I prefer to call it _focused waiting_," he sniffed. "I'm bored out of my mind, Draco! I'm not allowed back to work until next Tuesday because of the compulsory medical leave that Kingsley insists on me finishing even though I'm alright. And I really, really miss you," Harry repeated, green eyes locking sweetly with grey.

_I miss you too_, Draco thought, but carefully guarded those unsaid words to himself. Draco lifted up Harry's arm and scrutinized the white lines of healed over Dark wounds. "Are you still having those nightmares?" The blond queried, concerned.

"No," Harry lied, camouflaging the answer with a laugh that was a bit too bright to be genuine. "That's enough about me. I've got an excellent remedy for headaches, you know," Harry dropped his voice and purred sultrily, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Like?" Draco said lightly, shivering when he felt zingy flutters darting like fireflies up and down the frame of his body.

"I give great massages. You're half-naked right now, so it'll make things easier, won't it? Do you want to be sitting up or lying down? I can do it both ways," Harry crooned lasciviously, his eyebrows waggling at the double entendre.

"Sitting up would be fine," Draco said, a gleam of suggestive grey caught between slinky eyelashes. His breath hitched in his throat when Harry casually passed his tongue over his lips and began to knead Draco's shoulders with just the right amount of strength. The brunette parted his own legs further and pulled the blond nearer until Draco was sandwiched between the ex-Gryffindor's thighs.

Draco tilted his head back towards Harry, but Harry only grinned slyly, placed his fingers on Draco's chin and turned his head back. Harry's teasing touches, a deft play of wrists and knuckles, caressed the dome of his shoulders, disrupting Draco's sensitive nerves just below the surface of his skin. Riptides of desire and want jetted through Draco's system, and he bent his toes under the sheets, feeling the magnetic, addictive heat melding between their bodies. Draco found this sudden intrusion of personal space disconcerting yet thrilling at the same time. All of Draco's exhaustions and weariness was gradually melting away; tantamount to Draco sinking his body in a warm, foamy bath after a long, hard day.

Harry's hand feathered down the knobs of bone at the back of Draco's neck, descending to the valley between his shoulder blades, nothing but mere fingertips skimming all the way down the line of his spine, and Draco thought Harry was going to go all the way down-

Harry leant in, dipped his head, bared his teeth and bit down on Draco's neck, straddling that perfect pressure between pain and arousal.

Draco's hands clenched and fisted around the sheets.

The awareness of Harry sliding the tips of his fingers under the waistband of Draco's boxers and hooking it up didn't elude him. Draco wanted him to stop, wanted him not to stop all at the same time-

"This isn't a massage," Draco managed through gritted teeth when Harry's fingers ended up stroking the swell of his right hip, precariously close to bits that shouldn't be touched at all. Draco laughed throatily, a laugh that he tried to make dismissive but came across as rather strangled.

"I know my limits, contrary to what you may think. Do you know what I'll do if I went too far? Do you want me to show you?" Harry murmured softly, his irresistible charm cranked all the way up to maximum wattage. With that, the brunette slipped himself smoothly from behind Draco, pushed the blond down on the bed in a fluid motion and positioned his body on top of the other man. Sparks of molten electricity fired all over Draco's skin, tumbling through his veins and kindling in his blood.

And they weren't even touching yet.

Harry's gaze lingered appreciatively on Draco's naked chest and abdomen and he smiled slowly, one side of his mouth moving up in a rich, crafty smile that made Draco's heart accelerate and thump at double time. Every cell in Harry was screaming at him to get Draco naked as soon as possible and have his wicked way with him, but there was one thing that Harry wanted to clear up before they got to the fun.

"Curious. I would have expected you to have bitten my head off by now. I guess your final verdict about the two months is practically a foregone conclusion," Harry pointed out, stroking Draco's neck idly.

"What makes you so sure?" Draco said, frowning up at Harry's grinning face.

"I'm in your house, in your room, in your bed, touching you like this. And you're letting me. Isn't it obvious, Draco?" Harry replied, his eyes shining triumphantly and his low baritone voice a rumble that Draco could feel at the pit of his stomach.

Draco's frown deepened for a few seconds before the blond's strawberry-pink lips split into a superior little smile that was a bit too Slytherin for Harry's liking.

Harry blinked.

Still maintaining that imperious expression on his face, Draco propped himself up on his elbows, raised an arm up and brushed his knuckles across the nape of Harry's neck, shooting the brunette one of his sexually potent looks.

Harry's cock twitched.

"You want me, don't you? You've always wanted me right from the start. I bet you think of touching me, spreading my legs open, only for you. You'll want to lick, suck and tease every single inch of me. I wonder how I sound like in your head when you're fucking me. Do you think of me when you wank, Harry? Do you?" Draco whispered, snapping a hand over Harry's wrist when the brunette moved to unzip his jeans. The blond lifted Harry's hand to his lips and dragged his tongue foxily along the length of Harry's middle finger before taking it in his mouth, his lips wrapped around it and his grey eyes promising a night of unforgettably mind-blowing _sex_-

"I think about you, Draco, want you, want you _now_-" Harry bit out in disjointed sentences, his eyes cloaked in a mist of lust. Draco gave Harry's finger one last lick and slipped it out, an innocent pout settling on his mouth. Harry immediately circled an arm around Draco's waist, hoisted the blond up and kissed him desperately, each obscene, sleazy sex scene in his mind rearing up hotly.

A thoroughly possessive growl tore from Harry's throat and resonated in between their mouths, their kisses twisting and spiraling all around one another. Harry wallowed deliciously in a deluge of pure pleasure, he was swept up completely in this wicked rush that robbed him of common sense and it didn't matter, because Draco was there, those filthy, _dirty_ words coming out of that porn star mouth-

"Do you want me to take off your clothes for you? It looks rather tight, doesn't it, Harry? It has to be uncomfortable. I'll strip all of it off. Then I'll let you play with me, will you like that?"

"Yes, _please,_ get me naked, Draco-" Harry panted out desperately, a groan spilling forth from his lips.

"I'll do all that and _more_," Draco continued, before that same plotting, roguish twinkle appeared in his eye. "But not today, Harry."

It was as though someone had thrown a bucket of cold water at his erection.

"W-What? You mean we're not having sex tonight?" Harry stammered out when he regained functional control of proper speech. "But you said all those things! You were sucking my finger and everything!"

"You're not my boyfriend yet, Harry. It only becomes official tomorrow night. And I _never_ sleep with men that aren't my lovers. I might like to take it up the arse, but you should know by now that I don't play into your hands that easily," Draco cooed, grabbing the sheets and pulling it up to his hips.

"You could have just told me, instead of misleading me like that! You bloody _cocktease_!" Harry hollered in dismay, his brows scrunched up in misery.

"Where's the fun in that? I also wanted to know whether you wanked thinking about me," Draco grinned impishly. When the scowl on Harry's face didn't fade, Draco quickly hugged Harry from the back and said soothingly, "Come on. I promise I'll wank to you tonight. And when we eventually get to fuck, wouldn't it feel so much better after all the teasing, hmmm? You know how much I love winding you up."

"Does it mean that we'll be having sex tomorrow?" Harry finally grunted, perking up at that prospect.

"We'll see, Harry," Draco said in a noncommittal fashion, throwing the brunette a risqué wink. Harry kept quiet for a moment, before cheering up at a particular thought.

"Can I see you wank tonight?"

"… _No_."

Sighing, Harry jammed his shoes on his feet. His profile softened as he got up and tucked Draco in bed. The ex-Slytherin beamed naturally when Harry kissed Draco's forehead lovingly. A bubble of affection burgeoned within the blond. The emotion in Draco's eyes used to flit by swiftly before he covered them up efficiently, but now…

_People change._

"I brought you mushroom soup, your favorite. I'll put it in your kitchen, alright? Heat it up when you're hungry later. I'll pick you up tomorrow evening," Harry reminded, fluffing up the sheets around Draco. Draco snuggled happily into his bed, but not before a sudden fact, rude and harsh, sliced through his mind.

"Harry?" Draco sat up, his eyebrows knotted with concern. "I'll still be able to see you tomorrow, but… Pietro and I are doing a photo shoot with Wealth magazine. You'll have to pick me up at their headquarters, not here."

"You didn't mention this before. Sudden change of plans?"

"It was originally slated for the early afternoon, but the timing was changed. Normally their slots are set in stone because they work on a very tight schedule. That's why I think that someone pushed the shoot down to the evening on purpose. I reckon it's Pietro. He must have found out that we were going out in the evening. Maybe it's better for us to meet on Sunday-" Draco fretted.

"I won't have that. I'm seeing you tomorrow, and that's final. He can't do anything to us, can he?" Harry pointed out, his eyes narrowing and his voice deepening to a snarl at the mention of Pietro's name.

"I guess not," Draco said uncertainly.

"Don't worry about it, Draco. It'll be fine in the end," Harry reassured calmly, patting Draco's hand comfortingly. Draco slumped back on his pillow and couldn't help but stare hungrily at Harry's shoulders when the sexy, sexy brunette turned and exited his bedroom.

When he stepped out of the room, the façade of confidence on Harry's face fell apart. He didn't know what Labelle was playing at. Harry angrily snatched the soup and walked towards the kitchen. His curiosity getting the better of him, Harry's gaze floated around the area. There was only a meager amount of food that he could see, and most of them were leftovers. He opened a few dusty cupboards, and with a disapproving air, Harry realized that they didn't contain anything much at all. He moved on to the largest cupboard and opened it, his eyes widening when he came face to face with a pyramid of identical jars of honey. Harry recognized the brand and knew that this brand wasn't cheap.

Something niggled in Harry's mind, and he felt that he had seen this before… It came rushing back to him; he had seen the honey the first time that he had entered Draco's office, and Draco had swiftly hid it from him. Questions whizzed through Harry's head at breakneck speed. He felt like going back to Draco's bedroom and quizzing him about it, but he didn't want to disturb him.

The spring in his step no longer present, Harry trudged out of the kitchen and wondered what else he didn't know about Draco Malfoy.

* * *

It started out as just a few devious grazes of fingers here and there, surreptitiously placed and oh-so-unnoticeable if only a brief, cursory look was given. The photographer was snapping merrily away, the spotlight highlighted on both blonds. Harry sat on the sidelines, his hands shoved tenaciously underneath the seat of his jeans. He had to keep his cool; he couldn't do anything to let Labelle know that he was well on his way to provoking Harry. Harry had opted to meet Draco early, and it was a damn good thing that he did, Harry huffed, scowling when Pietro smirked superciliously at him.

Ignoring him as much as possible, the brunette trailed his gaze dreamily over Draco, concentrating on the blond's camera-pleasing cheekbones, how delectable the man looked, and what the _fuck_ was _his_ hand doing on his _bum_?! Draco squirmed imperceptibly, his body inching stealthily away from Pietro's wandering hand, but still maintaining that perfunctory, precise smile on his features.

That was _enough_.

Harry got up, building up a head of steam as he stormed towards Pietro, ready to sock him a good one for all of his cheap touches _and he's doing it right in front of me, the bloody cheek of him_- for the past fifteen minutes. Sensing the anger radiating off Harry like a beacon, Draco swiftly murmured an apology to the photographer and intercepted his date skillfully.

"It'll be done soon, I promise, just hold on for a while longer," Draco said anxiously, placing his palms on Harry's chest in a measure to placate him. Harry roughly hustled Draco behind him and rounded on Pietro.

"What do you think you're playing at?! I'm not blind, you know!"

Pietro made his way towards Harry with an arrogant swagger and regarded him with a cool glance, before dismissing the rest of the crew with a mere flick of his head. His shrewd business brain was humming with activity as he digested the scene in front of him.

Oh wait, he didn't need to. He had planned and scripted this every step of the way, didn't he? Him, the bearer of the Midas touch, complete with that cold-blooded determination to accumulate success after triumph. Pietro's insides roiled tantalizingly at the prospect of having a verbal battle with Potter, the result in which he would come out the winner, of course.

Was there any other way?

"It's so easy to push your buttons, isn't it? You've had your fun for the last two months with Draco, so it's about time to give him back to me, hmmm? It's rather…_ rude_ to be holding onto something that _obviously _belongs to another person, don't you think so?" Pietro said mockingly, his voice trickling forth as sweet as honey and molasses.

Harry could feel Draco bristling behind him, but the brunette curled his fingers around the blond's wrist, letting him know that he could handle it. When Harry spoke, his words came out as sure and scorching as Pietro's, the riled-up fire in his eyes betraying the steadiness of his voice.

"The last time I checked, Draco was single when I began to court him, so I would like to gently remind you that my dates with Draco have nothing to do with you, _Mister _Labelle."

"Oh no, _Mister_ Potter, I'm afraid that you don't fully understand the gravity of this situation. You see, me and Draco, well, we haven't actually broken up officially yet. Haven't you ever wondered why everyone still assumes that we're still together? Haven't you ever wondered why Draco never discusses the prickly topic of me with you? Maybe there's something that he's hiding from you, hmmm? Maybe he's always been stringing you along, treating it all as a child's game? I have learnt that the whole… affair with the both of you started out as something like a _bet_, didn't it? And well, when it comes to betting, it's perfectly… _common_ if someone… _cheats_ along the way, doesn't it?" Pietro retorted sardonically, powdered sugar crystallizing in his sentences, inserting pauses between his words for maximum effect.

Draco gulped nervously.

Snippets of words came tumbling back to Harry in ugly, disfigured clarity, straight out from Draco's own mouth those few weeks ago-

_"-complicating this game by bringing love into the equation-"_

And it was then that Harry recalled that Draco never did apologize for those words.

Harry stepped back, miniscule beads of self-doubt mounting in his chest, his mind reeling with the seeds of subversion that Pietro had oh-so-subtly planted. Harry's grip on Draco loosened slightly and he looked helplessly in cornered grey eyes.

"Don't listen to him, Harry, you know he's not making any sense," Draco pleaded, pulling the brunette away. And it looked as though Harry was about to ignore Pietro altogether and run off with Draco-

"Will the both of you last? Draco has expensive tastes, if you haven't noticed that. He prefers vintage wine compared to a flask of cheap Firewhiskey, a beverage that you're all too familiar with, no? Money is our _raison d'etre,_ and I'm sad to say that it's something that you're sorely lacking in. I can give him anything and everything that his heart desires, I can buy him an island off some exotic coast. What about you, Potter? What's _your_ net worth?"

_"-all of those cheap Muggle dates?!"_

Harry stopped firmly in his tracks and he eyed the older blond, torn in between wanting to punch him in the face, ignoring everything that spewed out from his lips, but yet _because it's what you've worried before, how can you support Draco and the lifestyle that he's become accustomed to, isn't it Harry, isn't it?!_

Each scathingly implied insult was delivered with cold aplomb, having been practised to perfection. Pietro was the reigning king of all supreme that towered above the rest of the peons. Pietro's jubilant Cheshire cat grin widened even further. He laughed, his malicious laughter salting the air around them.

"You've done a stint in a poor man's pie, Draco. Isn't it time for you to come back to where you rightfully belong to, where all the big boys are?" Pietro asked pleasantly, a hand extended.

"Leave me alone," Draco gnashed out through clenched teeth, but not before Harry saw a glimmer of hesitancy zip through as fast as quicksilver through grey eyes-

_"-think you were good enough for me?!"_

"So what if you've got truckloads of money? You don't have a family, you don't have friends! You don't know what it means to love someone! You can't take my friends away from me just by whisking your Galleons under their noses-" Harry raged _no, I won't let you destroy everything that I've worked for, no-_

"Yes, I can't, but I can take away the one person that supposedly means the world to you," Pietro said scornfully, his eyes slitted _this is taking too long, why hasn't he left yet_- into iceberg impatient blue. He was the sort of man that calculated and considered every single risk, every single scenario, and sketched up a backup plan in case things went awry.

Pietro licked his lips eagerly and pulled out his trump card, his expression taking on one of a cobra before it delivers its killing blow.

"I met Draco for dinner two days after you were discharged from St. Mungo's. Guess you didn't know that. It was the same table that we always sat at, and I invited Draco back up to our hotel room, the same room that we always book. And, well, I reckon I don't need to give you the sordid details of what went on next, do I?" Pietro said sweetly, his corners of his lips upturned victoriously.

Harry relinquished his hold on Draco's wrist entirely.

"He's lying, isn't he, Draco?! Tell me he's lying!"

Draco's face took on an uneasy, pinched pallor.

_bang bang-_

The already-present diffidence in Harry was being augmented with every passing second. Pietro's announcement had thrown him completely off-kilter. The blond was the personification of everything Harry loathed. What did it mean when Draco used to be together with him? What did it mean when Draco let Pietro groom him to be just like him? Harry found himself wondering whether Pietro had a heart underneath his chilling exterior.

"We didn't do anything more than have dinner, Harry-" Draco tried to clarify, but Pietro craftily covered up Draco's voice with his own booming one.

"Five years worth of carnal knowledge of Draco's body sure comes in useful at times, doesn't it? It took you long to see that Draco deserves better, no, he deserves the _best_. He deserves _me_," Pietro finished sneeringly, smiling as though he had crushed a harassing bug. His eyes danced with merriment at the silly emotions splattered so sloppily all over Harry's face for the whole world to see, for all of them to pry his weaknesses apart and dissect them with a fine-toothed comb.

_beautiful dirty rich-_

_dirty dirty rich beautiful dirty rich-_

"I didn't have sex with Pietro, it was just a dinner!" Draco shouted hastily, expecting Harry to bat Pietro's hand away when the other blond grabbed Draco by the wrist.

But Harry didn't move.

"Then why didn't you tell me?! And why were you having dinner with him when you're no longer together? Lunch meetings, yes, I might be able to accept that, but dinner in the evening? Complete with candlelight and polished cutlery, am I not wrong?" The brunette yelled, his control snapping and betrayal thundering hotly on the heels of jealousy.

Harry had never raised his voice like this to Draco before. Yes, they had had small altercations, but never _why is he shouting at me without giving me a chance to explain_- like this. Stunned, Draco simply stood there, powerless and paralyzed, while Harry fell to pieces in front of him.

His misery engine was speeding ahead on full steam, and there were no brakes in sight. The brunette let out a truncated laugh and rolled up the sleeves on the shirt _what's the point of wearing it when you don't feel comfortable_- that Draco had bought for him for Pansy's wedding.

"I was pathetic at Pansy's wedding. I didn't belong there and I knew it! I don't see the point of spending thousands of Galleons just for the cutlery and the table settings _alone_, I don't see the point of inviting guests that aren't your friends! And _you_, you just left me there all alone! Am I so socially challenged that you can't even introduce me to your friends?!" Harry ranted, his features lighting up with incredulity. He remembered how the Weasleys had to scrimp and save simply for their school textbooks, remembered the murmurs interlaced with secrecy and disbelief that smoked around him when he caught people staring at him at the wedding, that sense of exclusion that made it feel like the first day of school all over again.

_"-but for us, those in the higher echelons of society-"_

Suits were all about conformity, a shameless portrayal of power and professionalism. Feeling utterly claustrophobic, Harry snarled angrily, reached up and ripped his tie off, tossing it haphazardly on the floor.

Draco stared at Harry's discarded tie. _That's the tie that I love on him, he dressed up for me-_

"Your job took precedence over everything else. There's no difference if I miss a day of work, but for you, you get to lose hundreds and thousands of Galleons if you do that. And I can't accept that difference, Draco!" Disappointment and chagrin bore down on Harry's shoulders, the bitterness that he usually kept in check sullying his words.

"Are you asking me to choose between you and my work?! You must be _mad_!" Draco lashed out finally, ignoring the dull, throbbing ache where his heart used to be.

_"-it's a letter telling you that I can't make it to your party tonight-"_

"Yes, I'm completely mad! I'm mad for thinking that we had a future together, I must be mad for thinking that you fancied me as much as I did, when you were probably in bed with your ex, laughing at me, laughing at how easy it was to wrap me around your little finger, wasn't it?!" Harry bellowed, failing to rein in his infamous temper and rashness, aiming each dart of a word like gilded weapons, tailor-made to wound and hurt.

Draco's nerves were suddenly flooded with icy-cold water.

Ever since they had met, aged eleven, Draco had been born with a silver spoon practically clenched in his teeth, a far cry from Harry's own humble background. Harry had also chosen to give his Triwizard earnings to the Weasley twins, simply because he knew that there were other more crucial things to be treasured in life, but for Draco, it was a whole new different ball game altogether-

_"-do you deserve my love, Harry-"_

"I was never good enough for you right from the beginning! You fobbed me off when I met you at the Ministry function. You made me wait when I was due at your office. And all those subtle, little things that make me feel so menial, that tiny sneer that you give me whenever I laugh and say that I don't know anything about business! I never should have contacted you again, I never should have gotten in a relationship with you, I never should have let you toy with my feelings like that because you're still the same stuck-up, arrogant, indifferent _Slytherin_ that I knew!" His brain was yelling _what are you doing, shut up, shut up_- at him to stop, but still, his resentful voice was continuing, ringing in the air, speaking through Harry like he was a ventriloquist's puppet, that little speech tasting like forgotten ashes in Harry's mouth-

_we're tearing us apart-_

Harry had had enough of the sense of inadequacy that plagued him, that little growing cyst of inferiority that had been metastasizing over the months. At every step, at every turn of the two months were the hints and the evidence that had been steadily piling up, screaming blatantly in Harry's face that _they would never work_. The chasm between them, that sharp, insurmountable difference in status, the social, psychological, emotional divide that came in between them was only apparent now, all cut and dried and hung up and inspected on an emotional washing line.

_"-and besides you don't have enough money-"_

Everything had to come to a head eventually, and it was culminating up to this very day.

_"-five years… you took Draco away from Pietro-"_

The onslaught of Harry's words was impaling Draco, and both brunette and blond stood motionless, frozen in place like exhibits on display. The atmosphere was balanced precariously on the tip of a dewdrop, and Harry's name was like a word that Draco couldn't physically say out loud, but his brain was screaming it _why are you saying all of this, are you leaving us like this, tell me you don't mean it, tell me, Harry, Harry, **Harry**!_

Behind him, Pietro crooked a finger, and an assistant scuttled forward.

"Mr Potter, please leave. We're already behind schedule."

A deflated Harry turned away and shuffled woodenly, his head hanging, his hands in his pockets and his heart dropping all the way down to his shoes. He walked away, spurred on by waves of humiliation. An air of finality reverberated, like curtains being drawn at the end of a play.

"You don't fit in my world, and I don't fit in yours," Harry murmured dully as a parting shot and Draco could see the hurt cut into dejected green eyes and Harry was moving away and Draco's ears were ringing with what sounded like a heartbreak _no, no!_

_cross my heart out-_

_in the palm of your hand-_

Shaking his head to clear the confused whirlwind of emotions spinning in his mind, Draco scowled and looked like he was about to chase Harry, but Pietro fastened a rigid hand on his arm.

"He's the one that left you, Draco. What's the point of chasing him? And besides, are you sure you want to leave? This is Wealth magazine that we're talking about, or have you forgotten? You know how much damage they can inflict on people who waste their time," Pietro whispered lightly, looking as pleased as a satiated beast.

Draco shook his hand free and threw Pietro a dirty look. He looked at the photographer and the wardrobe crew fixing him with urgent gazes and the tapping of their feet _this is your job-_. Exhaling tediously, Draco nodded wearily and walked back to the photographer-

-but not before grabbing Harry's abandoned tie and holding it tightly in his hands.

_his heart that dropped all the way down to hell when-_

_it slipped out of your hands-_

* * *

He had almost forgotten that he used to like daisies.

He had once thought roses were too overrated, too maudlin, too cheesy, but now Draco found himself preferring roses more and more compared to daisies.

Maybe it was because roses reminded him of Harry.

Pietro smiled silkily, a bouquet of daisies clutched in his hand like a glistening lifeline. Disappointment weighed heavily down on Draco's features as he let the other blond in and closed the door after him.

"I thought you would have packed up. It's time for you to move back in with me, isn't it, after yesterday's fiasco? The house elves have already prepared a bath for you," Pietro said, a slight frown registering in between his brows as he regarded Draco's tiny hovel of a house with disdain.

"I'm not moving back in," the ex-Slytherin said quietly.

The whiplash grin on Pietro's face dimmed, but he instantly recovered his equilibrium. "Maybe you need some time to adjust. Let me know when you're ready to return. Everything will be just the way you like it, just like old times." The certainty in Pietro's voice wavered and he extended the daises towards Draco, wiping off any trace of despondence on his face.

Draco didn't take the flowers.

"Draco. _Draco_, look at me," Pietro demanded, abandoning the bouquet on the couch, grabbing Draco by the shoulders and forcing the ex-Slytherin to meet his gaze head-on. Grey linked with blue for a blink-and-you'll-miss-it second before Draco turned away, that glimmer of defiance and secrecy shrouding those grey eyes.

Pietro was very familiar with that expression.

"Please leave. I'm in no mood to deal with you right now," Draco murmured, his eyes still averting Pietro's _a relic from my past interfering with my present and my future_- displeased look.

"Are you still moping over him? I've exposed all of his vulnerabilities, each and every single one of his shortcomings! You just wanted to try someone different, fine. It doesn't mean that I'm happy with it, but I'll bear with it for you! You were a bit too enamored with him, but now I've brought you back to reality, so come back to me, Draco!" Pietro said beseechingly, a hand shaking Draco's elbow.

"I want to be with him," Draco said simply, wrenching his arm away from Pietro's grasp. Pietro inhaled deeply and let it out grievously in between clenched teeth, sounding like he was having a slow, painful puncture.

"Tell me what he has. Tell me what he has that I'm lacking and I'll fix it. I'll be what he is and _more_. Don't shut yourself off from me again, don't do this to me again,_ please_," Pietro whispered soberly, taking two steps back from Draco, giving him enough space to marshal his thoughts.

"He's the one's that lacking, not you! Harry can't sing to save his life, but he still does it to make me happy-"

"I'll take singing lessons-"

"That's not the point, Pietro! It's not like running a business, you can't list down the pros and cons and make an informed decision! You can't simply decide that A is better than B and completely erase all the memories that you've got of B and then move on to A and pretend that B never happened! You can't take me back just by eliminating Harry from the competition!

"Yes, he's never spent extravagant amounts of money when he's out with me, he doesn't buy me expensive gifts, and our first date was absolutely _disastrous_, but I know that he will never blow me off simply because his work entails him to! He will never forget my birthday because he's got a meeting in Paris! He's more comfortable around kids than writing proposals and editing documents, and yes, I thought kids were bratty and irritating, but have you actually held a proper, well-behaved one in your arms? This isn't just about money, it's about something else _entirely _that can't be quantified in cold-hearted cash! It's about emotions! Do you understand it now, Pietro?

"Harry gives me something that money cannot buy," Draco concluded with taciturnity, his eyes downcast and the tips of his thumbs rubbing against one another, a telltale sign to Pietro that the younger man was nervous.

"Oh," Pietro said dully. He looked beyond his years. He stretched a hand and rubbed his temples jerkily, his mind refusing to wrap around being handed rejection on a silver platter by a man eight years his junior. Resentment and anger, saddled and buried in Pietro's heart for the past few months, boiled over and resurfaced like a squall breaking free from below a calm body of ocean.

"Why did you leave like that then? Why did you close me off, pack up your things and leave me hanging like that?! There was no note, no owl the next day, nothing! Do you think it was fair to me, after all we've been through?! You don't know how much it _hurt,_ just knowing that you've bought a house on your own, shifted the separate hotel accounts over to your side! You've planned your departure all along. You don't know how many nights I've stayed awake, waiting for you to come back of your own accord, obsessing over the last few days in my head like some _madman_, wondering what I've done wrong! I need to know why you left me, I need to know what's _wrong _with us before we can fix it!" Pietro pleaded dolefully, his hands hanging limply at his sides.

Pietro Labelle's professional, pristine veneer had finally been ruthlessly pummeled and destroyed.

And in that moment, Draco could see the man that he once been in love with, the man that showed his emotions clearly on his face and didn't hide them behind skillfully delivered smiles that were in actual fact meant to demoralize and ridicule, the man that hugged and said _iloveyou_ as freely as he wanted, the man that used to give him silly cards that he spent precious time choosing with love and care, instead of asking his secretary to send a perfunctory bouquet of daisies and a boring card to Draco when it was his birthday or anniversary.

Draco felt no tug of regret, no invisible leash of desire binding the both of them together anymore.

Draco smiled a sad little smile and deposited his emotionally wrung-out body in a chair. And with that, Draco stretched all the way down to the bottom of his broken heart where no one ever had the privilege to venture into, and with a jittery, fragile hand, swiped away the cumbersome cobwebs of secrets and lugged out the truth.

"We were together for five years. I've told you right from the start that I want to take a year off with you to go travelling around the world. You said that it would be best to wait for the business to be stable. I agreed. I never got that dream fulfilled in those five years, Pietro. I was sick of the reasons that you gave me when you had perfectly capable assistants to help you if you chose to take a leave of absence, but you refused to hand the reins over to them.

"I brought up the idea of marriage during our fourth year. You never did anything about that either. By then we were both so busy, having had our own accounts to take care of, and I got so tired of bothering you about it, you'd be so irritable and surly whenever I brought both topics up, so I just… stopped," Draco explained, his words stilting in between every few sentences, remembering how hurt he used to be by Pietro's indifference. It felt foreign to say out loud the things that he had kept in his heart caustically for the past few years.

"I'll book a Portkey whenever you're ready, just tell me where's your first destination-" Pietro tried, his blue eyes darkening while suffocating, pressing despair sank their ugly claws into him.

"It's too late for that now. And there was the pressure, the intense _pressure_ to live up to your expectations all the damn time!" Draco got up and began to pace the hall twitchily, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as he talked, his distressed voice gaining momentum. "It felt like this race with you to see which one of us could seal the better deals, the need to show each other up. I had to show you how hard I was working, even on weekends, if not you'll give me that _ghastly_ frown, that frown that makes me feel like I'm not enough for you, you don't think I notice, but yes, I do, and it _hurts!_ That habit's rubbed off on me, I'm a workaholic through and through and I can't do anything to stop it! I spend more time at the office than at home-"

"If only you had told me all of this-"

"If only you had pressed me about it further-"

"It's not been easy for me, either! There're times when you just enclose yourself completely, curl yourself up in that unresponsive, invulnerable little ball, and to get you to talk to me, it's like getting blood from a stone! You've said before that you've given me hints, but they're so obscure, so cryptic that I can't crack them at all!" Pietro railed, a strained, tormented feeling congealing in his stomach. "You smile and you laugh when you're with me, but I can see that you're covering up your unhappiness behind some sort of shield at times, and I can't, I _can't_-" Pietro pressed the heel of his palm between his brows and let out a strangled sigh, breathing deeply and forcing himself to settle down.

"Draco, I love you," the older man murmured softly, his crestfallen blue eyes searching out for any grain of reciprocation in the heavy grey skies in Draco's eyes. It would so tempting, so easy for Draco to agree, so easy for the both of them to paper over the cracks that marred their relationship, so easy to solve this whole dilemma with a simple _yes I love you too,_ but, _but_-

"I don't," Draco replied succinctly, retreating from Pietro and placing a respectable distance between them. "Pietro, I don't love you anymore, and no matter what you do, no matter how many of my boyfriends you try to eliminate, I will not love you. Maybe I should have told you right from the start instead of running away like that. Maybe it would have helped the both of us to move on. I hope that I've made this clear," Draco said slowly and turned his back towards Pietro, a dismissive tactic that Pietro himself had taught to Draco.

"I'm breaking my partnership with you. I've done some calculations, and I think that Millicent and I will be able to do a good enough job with the remaining clients that we've got. The contract will be couriered over to you tomorrow morning, and I hope that you will sign it without further ado."

And just like that, Draco had hammered the final nail in their coffin, efficiently annihilating the single, tenuous, brittle tie that joined them. By doing that, it went against Draco's Slytherin instincts that thirsted for money and power of the highest order, because Pietro Labelle had the ability to propel him to greater heights. But he no longer wanted to ferry this emotional baggage around the workplace, no longer wanted to ready words of confrontation on the tip of his tongue whenever he had meetings with Pietro.

"I doubt that you'll cause any trouble for me in that aspect, will you? After the trip around the world that has never been carried out, after the engagement that has never been executed, after how you drove Harry away like that," Draco said, keeping his voice as light as possible with maximum effort, but his jaw clenched when he whispered Harry's name.

Steel cords of guilt lashed their way across Pietro's limbs, making them feel like burdensome lead. He knew there was no point arguing with the other man. They were perfect for each other initially, but as the years passed, they were too headstrong, too alike to be a good match for each other, the both of them adapting and putting their work before each other.

It was a disaster just waiting to happen, and Pietro had had his suspicions, but to hear the words all spread out in such explicit, crystal clear cut terms, exactly like the conditions of a business contract…

Pietro no longer had any smear of hope left to hide behind.

Letting out a dry little laugh, Pietro cast a faltering, forlorn look at Draco's stiffly held back, wondering that maybe, just _maybe_ if he had done things a bit differently, that maybe, _maybe_-

In business, there was only one loser and one winner. But it seemed that in this particular game of love, both Harry Potter and he were losers. With that thought echoing sadly in his head, Pietro turned and left, his tread slow and painstakingly reluctant.

Draco stood very still for a while when he heard the door click closed. He took hold of the bunch of daisies, sat down heavily on the floor and stared unseeingly at each petal. He scrunched his eyes shut for a moment, pretending that the flowers in his hands were roses from Harry, roses that conveyed his apologies- _I'm sorry for saying all those things, I should have listened to you instead of him, I'm sorry for my rashness, Draco, Draco-_

Draco opened his eyes.

The daisies were still daisies.

Draco sank his forehead down to the stems of the flowers. His relationship with Harry had been torn into shredded ribbon, complete with an abrupt, brusque full stop that made Draco's heart cramp. He was confronted with the flotsam and jetsam of their affections, ruined by the brunette's yelled words that were like piercing arrows that had found their target. The blond's emotions were all compressed and pinched, knotted into one huge, smothering lump, and he couldn't believe it, he couldn't believe that Harry had left him floundering like this-

_I miss-_

_what we thought-_

_we were-_

* * *

**/tbc **

I had originally planned the Pietro/Draco scene to be dialogue only, but I figured out that I wanted to introduce another dimension to Pietro, and I hope that I've managed to bring that across. For those who still dislike him like mad, I'm glad to tell you that this is the last time you'll see him. /grin

Do review!


	11. Fumbling Towards Frustration

**Flirt by xErised**

**Fumbling Towards Frustration **

* * *

Hermione nudged Ron.

Ron nudged Hermione back.

They did a funny little dance of back and forth, the pair fidgeting and shuffling futilely around in the doorway. Harry seemed to take no notice of the both of them, his mind filled with thoughts that Ron and Hermione did not know how to breach.

"Go on, he's your best friend! Go and say something to him!" Hermione insisted, keeping her voice low and throwing her husband a dirty look. Hermione's eyes were glazed with worry as she gnawed helplessly on her knuckle. Harry had been mooching around like a funeral on legs, having done nothing for the past hour but to stare blankly at the newspaper clipping in his hands and gaze strangely into the middle distance. The couple had tried approaching him before, but Harry had simply dredged up an apathetic smile.

_"Am I… am I in the way? I guess I'll be on the way home then-"_

_"No no no, Harry! You can stay here; it's not a problem at all! We don't have anywhere to go today!"_

"That's easy enough for you to say! The last time I gave Harry advice he ended up snogging his ex!" Ron whispered back quickly. "You told me before that I've got an emotional range of a teaspoon, so I won't be much help at times like this, right?" Ron pointed out hopefully.

"You remember things like that and forget it whenever I ask you to do chores like to bring the washing in and to clean the fireplace," Hermione hissed back furiously, elbowing Ron painfully in the ribs. In response, Ron mustered a watery grin and gently pushed his wife forward.

Hermione directed a long-suffering sigh at Ron, rolled up her sleeves and made her way towards Harry.

"Your tea's cold. Let me brew you another cup," Hermione said, smiling warmly at the brunette. Harry jerked out of his reverie and blinked rapidly as though he had woken up from a deep sleep. Harry thanked Hermione quietly and returned sadly to his musings, his chin propped up on his palm and a troubled furrow caught between his brows.

He eyeballed the newspaper cut-out in his hands, uncertainty and confusion welling up in him. Folds and wrinkles snaked out from the sides of the clipping, and Harry gripped it just a bit tighter. The article had been printed in this morning's copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and consisted of a brief write-up about the dissolving of the partnership between Malfoy and Labelle, introducing Millicent Bulstrode as Draco's right-hand man.

Cold guilt closed its tentacles around him, and Harry snarled angrily at nothing in particular. His tousled black hair was like a scrawl of ink, having ran his hand through it so many times in sheer _what does this mean, if they were getting back together, then why did they break up the partnership, does it mean that Draco had never done anything with him, what does it mean for **us**, I don't know, I don't know!- _frustration.

_look at all their-_

A fetid emotional cocktail rose up in him like bile, fueled by a rankling mixture of despair and misery. He had spooled back every moment of the past two months, over-analyzing every miniscule scowl that had ever cast a shadow across Draco's face, dissecting every genuine smile _has he ever meant it at all_- that had graced Draco's lips. Harry had managed to strip away his hard veneer, had battled his way into the inner sanctum of Draco's heart, and it had all been for naught at the end.

_love washed down the drain-_

Their relationship had been incapacitated by the weight of the things left neglected and unsaid. It was as though the world had stopped together with them; the calendar of Harry's life was now governed by the last time he had set eyes on the blond _it's been two days since I've seen him, he hasn't contacted me, he hasn't, is it my fault_-

But into his coma of sorrow, righteous indignation came striding in. A sparkling mudslide of insecurity tumbled over Harry, and Harry smacked a hand across his forehead, punishing himself for being so amazingly daft _he never did chase me, he never did apologize for what he had said those few weeks ago, we will never fit well together, because I was never good enough and I will never, never be good enough_!- and stupid throughout the course of the courtship.

"Talk to me, Harry," Hermione pleaded quietly, placing two fresh mugs of tea on the table. She sat calmly across the kitchen table from Harry, her hands wrapped comfortably around her cup of tea.

"I-" Harry started, but his words stuck adamantly in his throat. How could he box it all up, how could he put all that emotion, all of that anger and disbelief and disappointment and sadness into mere words and sentences, wrap it up in a nice pretty little package with a bow at the top and hand it over to Hermione to understand?

"Maybe you don't know where to start, maybe you would rather sort your thoughts out alone, or maybe you just need to listen to someone at this juncture. It's okay, Harry," Hermione said soothingly. She scooted her chair forward and fixed Harry with one of those disconcerting looks that forced Harry to look up into her serious, hazel eyes.

"It's not always been smooth sailing for Ron and me, you know. He's never been good with words and always ends up blushing to the roots of his hair when he tries to mutter some vaguely romantic nonsense at me. He never notices it whenever I buy a new dress and wear it for him. He's got a mind like a sieve when it comes to remembering anniversaries and occasionally, my birthdays. And, well, both of us know how boorish Ron can be in his mannerisms, especially when he's eating," Hermione said, laughing a tad too brightly. Harry tilted his head curiously at his friend and was just about to say something when Hermione placed her hand on top of his, silencing him.

"He never does the chores until I nag him to death, and sometimes when he works late, he forgets to notify me, and as a result, the kids and me end up eating late. He sometimes says things without thinking it through, and in the process ends up hurting me. I would call that insensitive, wouldn't you? We have fights, we have blazing rows that reduces Hugo to tears and forces Rose to grab Hugo and lock them up in her room. We can argue over the most inconsequential things, like whose turn it is to do the grocery shopping this week, things like that.

"He doesn't like it when I make convenience food like nuggets and chips for the kids because he thinks it's not nutritious enough but he doesn't know how difficult it is for me, a working mother of two to juggle everything up in the air, especially when he's too lazy to get off his arse and help me! It's easy for him to talk, since his mother didn't work and he grew up with home-cooked food for every meal! And do you know, Harry, sometimes I feel like I'm taking care of three kids, including Ron!" Hermione finished heatedly, her cheeks flushed with annoyance. With every conflict highlighted in their everyday life, Hermione's voice had gained in speed and volume, and Harry looked sharply at her. He had always thought that his two best friends had the perfect marriage.

"Hermione, why are you telling me all of this? Don't tell me… don't tell me that you're thinking of leaving Ron?!" Harry said urgently, his mind already whirring with how he could talk Hermione out of it. The witch's eyes went round with alarm, but before she could answer, Ron, Hugo and Rose burst into the kitchen.

"Cookie!" Hugo chanted, clapping his hands joyously. With that, Ron bent down, letting Hugo take a flying leap towards his father's shoulders. Ron straightened up and Hugo giggled as he riffled around in the cookie jar that was placed high up in the shelves.

"I'm taking a chocolate chip cookie, Rosie, Daddy, what would you like?" Hugo asked. He turned his head and suddenly noticed Hermione and Harry. "Mummy, Uncle Harry, would you like a cookie too?" The boy asked politely, his tongue held in between his teeth as he stuck his hand further into the jar.

"They're discussing important matters, Hugo, let's not bother them. I'll have a peanut butter one," Ron said hastily. When all of the Cookie Logistics were settled, Ron moved towards Harry and patted him rather awkwardly on the back.

"Cheer up, mate."

Harry could only summon up a small smile at the redhead to show his appreciation.

"Daddy, would you like to help me with my homework? I've got a few questions that I need help with," Rose piped up shyly.

"Sure, but wouldn't you rather have your mother's help? You know how she's so much better with your schoolwork than me," Ron replied sheepishly.

"It's okay, Daddy. We can… we can get the questions wrong together," Rose said, slipping her hand into Ron's and grinning contentedly up at him.

"To the study!" Hugo roared importantly, kicking his feet up in the air and wobbling a bit on his father's shoulders. Ron quickly grabbed onto Hugo's ankles and steadied him as the three of them bounded energetically out of the kitchen.

Harry turned back to Hermione. The witch was staring deeply into the cold dregs of her tea, deep in thought.

"You were saying?" Harry said quietly, prompting Hermione back to the threads of their interrupted conversation. Slivers of apprehension _please don't tell me that Hermione wants to leave Ron, please_- were gathering in Harry when he remembered the vexation and exasperation that Hermione had expressed towards her husband. Hermione snapped out of her absorption and looked at Harry with a neutral gaze. Her eyes drifted towards the spot on the floor where her small family had occupied just seconds before.

A satisfied smile formed on her lips.

"Harry, love isn't always about grand gestures all the time. Even though Ron has his faults, I've never once thought about leaving him. He has this uncanny ability to make me laugh, and whenever we make up after we fight, we end up treasuring each other more. Yes, he's a complete glutton, but he always gives the best bits of our meals to our kids. Yes, he might forget our anniversaries, but he has never once forgotten any one of Hugo and Rose's birthdays. Yes, he acts like a child sometimes, but whenever I'm sick or too tired to move a finger, he'll attempt to whip up dinner and clean the place up. And all of us end up eating burnt remains for dinner, but the fact is that he made an effort.

"I'm not perfect either. I can hear the disappointment in his voice when I tell him that I've got to work late sometimes and he can't meet you blokes at the pub because he's got to look after the kids in my place. I'm easing up on the nagging, it might not be much, but it's a start. We can't always be newly-weds, can we?" Hermione quipped, tucking a few strands of unruly hair behind her ear.

"In a relationship, at some point the both of you will disappoint one another. The most crucial thing is that you don't run away, you don't leave one another and pretend that nothing has happened because things don't go your way. You and Draco have only been going out properly for two months only, Harry. There will be things in his past that he won't be ready to share with you yet, and you've got to be patient regarding this aspect.

"You've told me a lot of things about him, including the whole money issue. But putting that aside completely, I'm certain that there're snippets of affection that he's shown towards you, is there not? Think about that, Harry. Think about that and ask yourself whether a relationship with Draco is worth pursuing," Hermione finished, looking into Harry's confused green eyes.

_"-Harry, I… don't know whatever it is that we've got between us… but I… I like it."_

With that, Hermione slid off her chair and folded Harry up in a firm, gentle hug.

* * *

So here he was, back again.

The only sound that Draco could hear was the steady rhythm of his breathing as he sat motionless in his office with the lights off. The streets below were unearthly quiet, and Draco felt like he was the only person that was conscious in the whole world right now _because it's late at night and everyone's sleeping or at home and yet here you are, in the office working, working, working throughout the night_-

He used to like that feeling, used to bask in that infinitely superior thought.

But things seemed to have changed.

Why did he feel so… lonely instead?

He wasn't hurt.

Why would he be hurt?

It was just a trial, a test to see whether they would be compatible, and recent events have showed that they didn't fit well together, like two mismatched jigsaw puzzles that would never click well properly no matter how much you tried to force it.

So why would he be hurt? The very idea was preposterous, so the next logical step was simply to whitewash the whole event, excise it neatly from his memory, treat it as a minor blip in his sorry excuse of his love life and file it scrupulously away in the dimension of ruined relationships, just like how he filed completed business deals away.

_so wrapped up in your little cotton wool of_-

It had been a ghastly tangle of hitches from start to end, and Draco should never have invested so much hope on it. It had been absolutely silly of him to get all starry-eyed about Potter. His mind and heart was now a freshly varnished slate of clean page, and Draco sat waiting for life and the next unfortunate casualty of love to scribble and scrawl over him all _rinse and repeat, rinse and fucking repeat_- over him again.

_denial-_

Work distracted Draco from the murky cauldron of his thoughts, so Draco immersed himself in wall to wall meetings and commanded himself to present his usual proud, composed carapace to the world. He was a machine that bristled with efficiency, precisely-tuned to confront and bulldoze through the paperwork and proposals that reared up at him like a hissing, biting snake.

Falling in love was a load of crap and a waste of time anyway.

_then why are you here right now, why are you here pretending to be perfectly fine when you would be at home normally at this time, Draco, it's because of, because-_

The silence of the four walls at home was just a bit too much.

The orderly, rigidly controlled compartments of his life were all muddled up, their contents thrown all over the place by a wayward child that was Potter. His cluttered thoughts floundered and drowned in the dismal whirlpool of disappointment, leaving him stranded in a wasteland of emotional shreds and tatters that he absolutely had no control over, simply because Harry had sought out the cracks, the fissures in the barricades of his heart and had managed to break through Draco's defenses with the sneakiness and surreptitiousness of a rogue.

_because no one will tuck you into bed like that anymore_-

There had been too many strings attached to expect a smooth path towards heartbreak.

Draco tore his fingers through his hair and sighed deeply and longingly, a lingering whisper_ it sounds like ihateyouihateyou but I think it means don'tleavemedon'tleaveme_- that dissolved and crumbled sadly into the cold night air.

_it's gonna hurt when it heals too_-

Harry's words were spinning like a macabre merry-go-round in Draco's heart, each ill thought-out protest that the brunette had yelled was like a javelin thrown straight under his skin and making the blond vacillate between anger _how dare he say all those things, how dare he accuse me of sleeping with Labelle_- and pain _I never knew what we were going to do for our last date_-. The blond had succumbed to the graveyard of words, weighing and rating every word uttered, and he had tried to blot it out, blot the whole scene out, but it seemed to be impossible because it was like a wrecking ball, demolishing his mind, spinning and spiraling and swerving out of control and whenever he closed his eyes he could see the disappointment and hurt splashed across narrowed green eyes-

_"-stuck-up, arrogant, indifferent Slytherin-"_

Draco ran a hand absently through the weave of the carpet. His fingers stumbled onto something peculiar. Frowning, the blond plucked it out.

It was a petal from the time when Harry had flooded Draco's office with roses when the brunette had accidentally cheated on him.

Draco rubbed the wilted petal in between his thumb and index finger.

It felt feeble and wizened, like a mummified wing from a dead butterfly.

Night pressed in around Draco, black, suffocating, _choking_-

"Look at you, Draco, wallowing in your puny bowl of self-despair! I won't have you feeling sorry for yourself again!"

The blond jumped and stared up at a towering Pansy, who had suddenly appeared from the Floo. She was coiffed in a bright orange-red dress, its color looking like she had snipped a few ethereal fronds of tangerine sunrise down to earth.

It was a stark contrast to the night that Draco was familiar with.

The ends of her outfit swirled around Pansy's knees as she bent down and grabbed Draco roughly by the elbow. With her lips pursed in a show of stern disapproval, she dragged a squawking Draco back to the fireplace. The blond shrieked when he accidentally tripped over a stack of files on the floor, sending them fanning out in all directions.

"Pansy, have you gone absolutely _mad_?! I need some time alone right now! Where are we going, hey, let go, let _go_!"

But the brunette took no heed of Draco's protests. She stepped into the fireplace in Draco's office, shoving Draco unceremoniously beside her. The pair was transported to the Zabini household within seconds. Without letting out a single word, Pansy carted Draco towards the veranda and tossed him curtly in a chair. Pansy snapped her fingers and a house elf appeared instantaneously.

"Serve dinner to Draco and me," the brunette ordered brusquely and dismissed the house elf. She stretched across the table, grabbed a bottle of wine and poured a generous amount of the drink into two glasses. She pushed one glass towards Draco, who didn't make any move to accept it.

"So what's been going on?" Pansy crossed her legs and looked at him with a penetrative gaze as she sipped on her wine.

"We broke up. That's all that's there to know," Draco replied succinctly, turning his body away from Pansy slightly and refusing to meet her inquisitive eyes.

"Don't you _dare_ shut me off by using your _sodding _avoidance tactics on me! I'm not Labelle, nor am I Potter! I'm Pansy, your oldest friend!" She flared up, snuck a foot under the table and harshly jerked Draco's ankle, forcing Draco to shift the direction of his body towards her. "I always confide in you when I've got my problems! You know I'll always be here, so why can't you talk to me too?"

Still scowling at Draco after her outburst, Pansy lowered her glass and stared at Draco, who was still being surprisingly reticent. Usually that would be enough to worm a decent reaction out from him. Being friends with Draco for such a long time taught Pansy many things about him: for one, there was no point in going all wishy-washy when you wanted to find out what he was thinking. The ex-Slytherin kept things, especially his disconsolate emotions and feelings close to his heart. The all-out offensive approach was needed to annihilate the tight-lipped nature of his personality, and that was one area where Pansy excelled.

"Where's Blaise? And why are you still dressed like that so late at night?" Draco asked quietly, neatly side-stepping Pansy's questions with finesse.

"He's having a few guests over for his usual champagne party at the other wing of the house. You know how late those things can run to. I was entertaining them for a while, but they began to talk about vineyards and the wine market, boring things like that, so I took my leave. It's only eleven, Draco, it's not that late. Labelle was here-"

"What? Is he still here now?"

"No, he's left. He took me to one side and told me what happened during the photo shoot two days ago. And I've yet to scold you for not telling me about this earlier! I had an inkling that you'd be all depressed and gloomy in your office, so I quickly hurried down. And I wasn't wrong, was I?" Pansy said, her fingers playing a calculative drum-roll on the table while she studied the blond.

But Draco still kept his silence. The only hint to the turmoil roiling within him was the way he downed his allocation of wine in one gulp.

"It's obvious that Labelle still cares about you. There is something rather curious, though. Potter clearly doesn't want anything to do with you anymore, so why don't you get back together with Labelle? It's better than giving him up and staying all alone, isn't it? There was also the chance of possible commercial backlash, having dissolved the partnership with him, hmmm? Why would you take that risk? Wouldn't it be better for all parties for you to kiss and make up with Labelle?" Pansy said flippantly, closely gauging the blond's reaction, or lack thereof, with a practiced eye.

Draco's grip on the edge of the table tightened.

"Of course, I do sympathize with you, having dated that _peasant_ Potter for the past two months. He knows absolutely nothing about how we operate. I reckon every date with him was abysmally cheap, wasn't it, maybe dinner on the sidewalk, that sort of thing? But for you to have stuck with him through the whole duration, it had to mean something, hmmm? Such a shame, such a complete _shame_-"

"Stop it! Harry's not like that at all! He's not a peasant and he's not cheap! I like spending time with him, he makes me happy, is that a crime?! Does it mean that I can't enjoy being around people that aren't as wealthy as me, Pansy? And I will never get back with Labelle because I'm not in love with him at all! I don't understand, so what if I make more money than Harry, so what if we move in different social circles, why can't we be together, why?!" Draco fumed, his sadness giving rise to anger, the sheer unfairness of everything, sodding Salazar, this wasn't the old times when people were prohibited from being in a relationship simply because of the difference in their status!

"You're finally talking," Pansy said, pleased. She had to play devil's advocate in order to trigger an answer from Draco, and apparently this last resort of a trick had worked.

"Do you remember how our parents were brought together by arranged marriages? Different reasons were given, such as to conserve the purity of our bloodline, to ensure that the bride wasn't some uneducated woman off the streets that would squander the family wealth away. It was necessary for the credentials of both bride and groom to be scoured meticulously before both families would be satisfied. It wasn't just for our parents, practically the whole house of Slytherin had similar experiences.

"Things have improved since then, but such traditions still have a tendency to linger. Do you remember Sir Cairn, that old geezer who made the worst mistake of his life by getting together with that commoner of a girl? The tabloids were all over them like an infectious disease, publicizing their disgraceful and ugly breakup! He fell so, _so_ far from the social pedestal after the fool that he'd made of himself. We've been surrounded by rich people for the majority of our lives, Draco, we were _born_ into this station of life. That's why a lot of eyebrows were raised when you appeared at my wedding with Potter as your date," Pansy said evenly, explaining things that Draco already knew by heart but refused to acknowledge.

The house elf abruptly Apparated beside them, placed two plates of steak in front of the pair and vanished as quickly as he had come.

"When you're so sad over Potter, it means that you're not willing to give up whatever you've got with him, isn't it?" Pansy guessed, her voice dropping to a soft murmur.

"It doesn't matter now. From what he said, I'm quite sure that he doesn't want to be with me anymore," Draco said shortly, ignoring the sharp pang in his heart as he sawed his knife through the meat.

_"-never should have gotten into a relationship with you!"_

"It's not all his fault, Draco. Maybe he feels belittled when he's around you, maybe he feels unworthy of you, maybe it's those little bits and pieces of body language that he picks up, maybe he has a feeling that you're ashamed of him in social situations," Pansy persuaded, trying to give Draco another perspective.

"Pansy, you've never seen us out on a date, so please stop assuming," Draco barked heatedly.

"You were shunning Potter throughout my wedding, Draco. He was squirreled away somewhere in a corner while you were out there socializing. Isn't that proof enough?" Pansy pointed out gently, careful to keep her usual bluntness in check.

_"-why would you want to waste your time with me?!"_

A stubborn Draco ignored Pansy, glared mutely at his plate and continued to cut up his meal into small chunks.

"What if you saw Potter with another bloke on the streets?"

Draco's knife let out a discordant screech as it scraped painfully across his plate.

_I think you're perfect but your hair is a mess-_

_and your shoes are untied but that's what I love best-_

Pansy leant over and rested her hand on top of Draco's. The blond finally dared to lift his chin and meet the brunette's scrutinizing gaze warily. Pansy sighed softly when she saw Draco's eyes reflecting dismay _no, no, I won't let him go, I won't, never, not after all we've done_- and alarm.

"There's your answer," Pansy said quietly, squeezing Draco's hand comfortingly.

Draco dropped his gaze to his hand, wondering why Pansy's fingers felt so foreign, so unnatural, so _bizarre_ against his skin-

_because you're used to him-_

_his touch his laughter his smile his voice his green eyes his everything-_

_but no longer-_

_no_

_more._

* * *

"How is… Draco?"

"On the occasion that you might deign to ask after him, Draco wishes for me to inform you that he is doing perfectly fine and does not require your presence back in his life whatsoever, Mister Potter."

"Oh. So I'll… just make a move then. T-Thanks, Millicent."

"… Potter! How can you take what I've just said at face value?! Listen, Draco's a mess right now, yes, he doesn't show it, but I can see it! He's eating less than usual, he doesn't go home until in the middle of the night, he's going through his work like a madman, for Salazar's sake, Potter, it's not going to be long before he breaks himself into two! Do something about it-"

"It's obvious he doesn't want to see me, I really don't know-"

"I don't care, Potter! I don't know exactly what has happened between the both of you, but it's frightfully apparent that he's deeply affected about it all, so it's _your_ responsibility to make it right again!"

* * *

"I was wondering when you were going to turn up."

Harry raked up a morose half-smile, directing it to Millicent, but his eyes were already straying helplessly towards the closed door of Draco's office.

"He's inside?" Harry asked, slashes of nervousness scything across his skin.

"Yes. I'll make my way out now. Hope all goes well, Potter," Millicent said, her features softening with true concern. With that, she swiftly gathered up her things and left.

It was strange how Harry suddenly felt so alone.

The brunette felt a stirring of dread forming, and he gulped. This was déjà vu all over again, like the very first time that he had hesitated marginally outside Draco's door two months ago, but this, _this_ was different because so much more was at stake here and this might not have a happy ending after all-

Harry squared his shoulders in determination, took in a deep breath for courage and opened the door.

"I thought you should be on your way back already, Millicent-" Draco started distractedly, his head snapping up. The blond immediately fell silent when he saw Harry. Draco appeared unfazed on the outside, but Harry detected a split-second chink of emotion flit across Draco's blanched face, and he knew that Draco was wrestling with his feelings and trying not to show it. Harry looked at the torn paper grey of Draco's eyes, and he felt this overwhelming, almost _smothering_ urge to rush towards the other man and bundle him up in his arms _but you were the one that said all those things, you're the reason why he's not eating, it's all your fault-_

Blobs of forgotten ink dripped sadly from the nib of Draco's quill that hovered unsteadily above the half-written proposal that the blond had been working on. Both men gazed silently at each other, words ranging from anger to hope to bitterness lining up and lurking beneath their tongues, but they had no idea how to start, no idea how to approach things.

Harry took a step forward, his movements slow and careful as though he was afraid to sever this fragile connection with too much noise and actions.

Draco gave his head a little shake, frowned darkly and slammed a hefty stack of documents directly in front of him, as though the documents were some sort of physical barrier in between the both of them.

"Do I owe you something?" Draco said coolly, dipping his head and continuing to write, but Harry could see yellow crescents of pressure forming under Draco's fingernails.

"I just wanted to give you this… I heard that you weren't eating much," Harry muttered, valiantly marching up to Draco's table and depositing a bowl of soup. Unlike previous occasions, Harry had actually spent hours under Hermione's tutelage and slaved over a hot stove to cook the soup himself, making sure that it was impeccable for Draco. Harry knew that roses and ice-cream won't be able to work their magic now.

He just hoped that Draco didn't throw the soup away without even looking at it.

"I'll let you shout at me, I'll let you say anything you want, I don't want us to continue like this. Draco, let's just talk it out, please?" Harry said beseechingly, the words feeling clumsy and clunky in his mouth.

Draco's quill paused.

And then Harry was reaching out to take hold of Draco's hand and it felt as though everything would be fine, it would be okay, that maybe they could have their own happy ending after all-

"I thought that we could make it," Draco said callously, his chin jutting with resolve and pride as he shied away from Harry's touch.

…

_Oh._

The ground was crumbling beneath Harry's feet, and he felt this strange feeling, this teetering, irregular sensation pooling under the bottoms of his toes like he was standing at the edge of a very high _why is he using past tense, is he saying that we're over, just like that_- cliff.

Draco was sitting so still, so frighteningly still as though his soul had been sucked out. His eyes were subdued, rimmed with icicles of impenetrable steel. His eyelashes drooped like bars, his feelings safeguarded behind well-honed indifference.

He refused to lift his veil of silence.

Harry's stomach contracted to the size of a coin. He whispered Draco's name again in pure desperation, giving Draco one more chance to make things right, because Harry no longer knew what to do next if the blond remained so unresponsive, so reserved, so irritatingly tight-lipped-

Regret flickered across cloudy grey eyes, and Harry thought that Draco was going to say something to alleviate Harry's apprehensions, but then Draco's lips straightened out, forming those flat, disengaged smiles that meant that the conversation was over.

With that, Draco lowered his head and continued writing, treating Harry as though he was completely invisible.

This was the sort of finality that chilled Harry to the bone, the sort of finality that brooked no argument.

_and he's left wondering which part of him isn't good enough-_

And Harry could only turn his back on Draco and make his way stiffly out of Draco's office, his heart breaking piece by piece all over again, completely missing the way Draco's writing hand was trembling, the way his long fingers accidentally tripped over one another, toppling the ink-well on the table, leaving the ink seeping into the parchment, leaking black tendrils of wretchedness and self-reproach all over Draco's precious proposals, but Draco didn't seem to care, his fingertips slowly staining with ink because his eyes were glued oh-so-miserably on Harry's retreating back-

_it was such a-_

_beautiful letdown._

* * *

**/tbc**

If I stick to my original plans, the next chapter should actually be the last chapter of _Flirt_. But it shouldn't come across as a surprise to know that I've still got a few more tricks up my sleeve, hmmm?


	12. Solace

**Flirt by xErised**

**Solace**

* * *

There was something stirring inside him, something that made him feel like laughing and crying all at the same time.

Draco traced a finger around the rim of the bowl, the tread of his finger jerky and uncertain. Draco had wanted to throw it away without a second glance, but there had been something holding him back. He knew that the soup was different, knew it the second he flipped the lid open. Oh no, Harry hadn't just bought it from the usual shops, the brunette had actually made it himself, judging by the richer aroma and the deluge of herbs and mushrooms.

It was strange how Draco was reluctant _you'll drink it slowly, carefully, cherishing every mouthful because this is the last time that anyone would ever do something so touching for you, Draco, you made it this way, it was you_- to drink the soup.

Every whiff of soup sent his resistance fraying at the ends, and Draco glowered darkly, slamming the lid down on the bowl. He opened a drawer and took out Harry's tie that he had rescued that day during the photo shoot. Grey eyes landed sadly on the spot where Harry had just occupied minutes before. He didn't know why he still kept it, it was absolutely silly, it had been so preposterously… absurd…

This was the tie that Harry had worn to Pansy's wedding.

_"-you're gorgeous. And tomorrow I'll be sober but you'll still be gorgeous."_

That was all he needed, that single trigger, that lone memory that unlocked an overloaded dam of feelings within Draco, every moment, every minute of those two months, drawing him back to places, emotions that he couldn't forget no matter how much he tried to, and there they were, that slideshow of happiness dancing around his skull-

_"-let me take care of you, please?"_

_because it's always so warm, so lovely whenever someone says 'I'll take care of you' instead of simply 'take care'-_

A spasm of longing rippled through Draco's insides, he was crippling himself with his indifference, and he knew that if he let this end, it would simply bleed away into the inky, black, cheerless night that he drowned himself in. Panic was suddenly increasing, beating its frenzied tempo on his thudding heart, this sharp, indefinable rhythm that sent everything clicking into place.

Draco let out a deranged snarl and snatched up the proposal that was drenched in ink. The blond pawed furiously at the proposal, his control all frazzled into confetti. He had spent hours on it, perfecting it, but now, it was ruined, it was destroyed utterly and completely just by a single careless mistake, a single careless slip of the tongue, and he had no way to redo it, no other option left but to _rip it apart into pieces_-

With that, the ex-Slytherin grasped both corners of the parchment roughly and tore it into jagged shreds and harsh scraps, his face twisted into a frightful expression of anger and abandon.

_every time we talk-_

The mutilated fragments of the proposal fluttered forlornly to the floor and Draco clamped the back of his hand to his mouth, muffling a sob of dismay. Yes, the proposal was demolished, but this thing with Harry, yes, it was bruised, it was damaged, but no, it wasn't dead yet, it wasn't the end yet, _unless you let him go-_

_every time we laugh-_

The life that he had forced upon himself was grey, cold and antiseptic, this stumbling block to communication debilitating him, he didn't want to keep his feelings jailed and under lock and key anymore, and there were these emotions trampolining all over the place, this full constellation of regret, melancholy, distress, apprehension and agitation swirling, raging, _thundering_ through him like an out-of-control maelstrom. Draco could count the number of times that he had ever felt like this on one hand, and yes, he didn't know what it meant, he didn't know what _any_ of it meant, but it had to mean something, _something_-

_every time we kiss-_

He didn't want this to be the sort of dream that slithered away whenever the cold ghosts of morning came around, he didn't want it to disappear without a trace, something that he couldn't claw back no matter how hard he tried, he didn't want all of those beautiful moments tainted and smeared by this night, by the cruel words that they had mindlessly flung at each other in fits of fury and animosity-

_I fall-_

If they accidentally stumbled upon each other in their everyday life in the future, would they simply avert their eyes, nod, and pretend that nothing had happened? If they said goodbye tonight, if Draco didn't do anything to salvage _I need some kind of proof that it's real_- it, yes, nothing, nothing, _nothing_ would remain-

_"-what if you saw Potter with another bloke on the streets-"_

"No, no, _no_!" Draco shouted, each protest escalating with the desperation mounting within him. He burrowed his fingers _I won't let that happen, I won't let it all go to waste because he's mine, he's mine and he'll always be mine, always, always!_- through his hair, tugging and yanking at his blond tendrils. His face was crumpling, deflating as though all the fight and obstinacy had gone out of him-

_just a-_

That was the tipping point.

His inhibitions were being sapped away as desolation and heartbreak hurtled to replace it. With a crazed, animalistic shriek tearing from his throat, Draco swept _these won't add to my happiness, none of this_!- all of the files and documents off his table, and then they were falling over like a snake of dominoes with a resounding crash, scattering and all scrambled up on the ground like a sea of passionless, deadened black and white.

_little-_

Draco's heart was pumping fast and hard, his shoulders heaving with every breath that he took as he stood in the very middle of the jumbled hurricane of his paperwork.

_bit-_

It was strange how he suddenly felt so liberated.

"Harry," Draco whispered. There was this manic urgency stealing over the blond, this impetuous, pressing need to get to the other man before he left _once and for all_-

_harder._

"Harry," he said again, but it was louder, with more force, with more emotion behind the brunette's name. "Harry, please don't leave me, wait, _wait_!" As if released from a spell, Draco's limbs jolted into life, and the blond ruthlessly kicked his way out of the fortress of paperwork that surrounded him. Galvanized into action, the blond grabbed something from the devastations of his office, dashed out ferociously and jabbed wildly at the buttons of the lift, cursing the Anti-Apparation ward placed at his workplace. Draco bit down hard on his knuckle, berating himself for being so foolish, so _stupid_. His grey eyes were brimming with remorse as blistering regret barreled its painful way through his body.

The lift finally arrived, and Draco rushed in, not daring to bring his hopes up just in case Harry was really, _truly _gone. The doors of the lift opened just in time for Draco to see Harry's retreating back. The brunette's shoulders were hunched miserably, his footsteps reluctant and heavy, and his hair, oh, his hair was so messy and unkempt, and Draco remembered his first impression of Harry during his first visit to the blond's office. His liquorice-black locks had been equally rumpled, that particular thatch of black hair that refused to stay upright, instead choosing to hang exasperatingly in between his green eyes. Draco had felt so irritated that Harry hadn't bothered to tidy up before meeting him, felt that nail-biting urge to straighten his hair out, but now, _now_-

It sounded silly, it sounded absurd, but Draco had found himself falling in love with Harry's scruffiness each and every day.

And it was at that point, at that split second pause in between _yesandnopleasedon'tgo_- when Harry turned one last time, his hands jammed dejectedly into the pockets of his jeans. Draco shakily stepped out of the lift, not daring to look Harry in the eye, but he could see the toes of Harry's sneakers fidgeting in his peripheral vision.

_but I can't let go of what's in front of me here-_

Harry's sneakers took one, two mincing, tentative steps towards the blond, and it was then that Draco lifted his head slowly, carefully, his eyes pleading eloquently for Harry not to leave, relaying the feelings that he didn't know how to package into words. Green and grey melded from the heat of their gaze, this instant that was so loaded, so intense that it could have powered the whole building-

"Harry, I-" Draco croaked out, his leaden limbs failing to budge from his spot. The blond could only stare helplessly at Harry, his vocal cords suddenly in a state of paralysis. His arms hung feebly at his sides like overcooked spaghetti, his wrinkled clothes were a far cry from their usual immaculate condition, and his blond locks were disheveled.

_you don't get back-_

Draco appeared to be a heartbeat away from a nervous breakdown.

_what you just threw away-_

Draco looked like a cheaper, shrunken version of his former arrogant self, and without the sanctuary and protection of his office, he looked like a weakened bird whose refinery and magnificent plumage had been removed when placed against the vast, cavernous background of the lobby.

The blond's façade of untouchable elegance was finally melting right in front of Harry's eyes.

Harry's heart was palpitating, the blood in his veins thrumming, coming to life and dancing under a rain of no, _no_, not happiness, not bliss, but _hope_. Harry swallowed, his green eyes held wide and unwavering, relishing this delighted fairground flutter in his stomach.

Dangling pleadingly from Draco's fingers was Harry's tie.

_what are you still doing standing there, Harry, go, go and get him and make it all better-_

With that, Harry scrambled towards Draco, yes, he could kiss him, thus placing a bandage on his emotional wounds, but they had so many things to talk about, so many unresolved issues that were still hanging in the air like a malevolent ghost that would rear its ugly head when the chance presented itself-

If this was a story, if this was a sappy romance movie, the both of them would rush to each other, declaring their clichéd, ever-lasting love, ending with Draco collapsing weakly in Harry's arms, sealing their affection with a wonderful kiss. They would then ignore the gaping hole in their relationship, treating it as though everything was perfectly fine and live happily ever after like some delusion of a fairy tale, but this was real life, harsh, astringent and bitter, and yes, there was a route to happiness, but unlike in dreams, reality didn't offer a shortcut to that destination.

"We'll talk at your home. Is that… is that okay?" Harry ventured. Draco nodded tightly, dipping his head and staring mutely at the polished marble floor.

Harry wrapped a hand around Draco's wrist, squeezed it gently and tugged Draco out of the lobby into the crisp night air. They then Apparated a short distance away from Draco's apartment and made their way into the ex-Slytherin's flat.

Not one word had been exchanged.

"I'll make some tea," Draco muttered, turning his back on Harry.

"I don't want tea," Harry said firmly. The ex-Gryffindor walked over to the dining table, pulled out a chair for Draco before sitting opposite Draco's empty chair. The blond hesitated fractionally, but obliged by silently sinking into the proffered chair, his eyes downcast and studying the workmanship of the table instead of looking at Harry. The brunette's shoulders slumped marginally and he tilted his head to the left, forcing Draco to meet his questioning gaze.

But the blond still chose to maintain his stubborn silence.

"Why did you meet up with Labelle that week when I was hospitalized?" Harry started, his nervous fingers falling all over each other into a knotted wreck. A bubble of irritation welled up in Draco and he scowled at the other man, annoyed.

"I needed his help to cover a few meetings that week because I was in the hospital looking after _you_. That dinner was just something to show my appreciation, and yes, he did invite me up for sex, but we didn't do anything because I rejected him!" Draco snarled, bristling, his voice spiraling upwards with every word.

"Then why didn't you tell me this before meeting him! Then all of this could have been avoided!" Harry countered, his own temper flaring.

"Because I knew you'd get into this jealous rage, I knew you'd start thinking about things that never happened! You'd hobble out from your home and follow me to see if I really did spend the night with him! You were still recuperating, Harry, the last thing I wanted to do was to make you worry!" Draco shot back heatedly. He sighed and rested the side of his face on his palm, the index finger of his other hand drawing symbols on the table, markings that Harry could not decipher.

Harry frowned crossly and placed his own palm down on Draco's wandering fingers, hindering their movement. The blond finally looked up into Harry's irate green eyes, his lips pulled tight into a grim, unyielding line.

"So what now? You're gonna blame me just because I care about you? I need to know your relationship with Labelle, I need to know why you broke up with him, Draco, I need reassurance to know that right now, he's really, _truly_, an ex, and not someone that's still lingering in the background!" Harry demanded, releasing Draco's hand when he was sure that he had the ex-Slytherin's full attention.

"Let me tell you in no uncertain terms that Pietro Labelle is no longer in the picture. Yes, he might still be in love with me, but I'm not interested in him anymore, and I've made it crystal-clear to him," Draco then continued to outline the events that had transpired in Draco's own home when Pietro had paid a visit to him. He told Harry as much as he could, right from the very start of their relationship, up to the reasons why Draco broke it off with Pietro. Harry listened quietly, grains of relief slowly forming in him. It really sounded as though the both of them were really over…

"I would greatly appreciate it if Pietro's name did not come up in this conversation anymore," Draco concluded evenly.

"You should have told me-" Harry started, but was cut off angrily by Draco's words, dripping with scorn. His composure was splintering, his animosity emboldened by unwanted memories of Pietro slinking from shadow to shadow. Draco pushed back his chair roughly and got to his feet. He began pacing, his arms folded across his chest.

"We've only been together for two months, Harry, you can't expect me to tell you all the dust and debris of my past relationships! I would have preferred to tell you all of this when I'm ready to, but now you're practically forcing me to say it all at this early stage, and it makes me uneasy! Does it mean that every single time when we have an argument, we need to drag it all out and clear the air right at that very moment? Can't we just think about it, can't we just let things lie for a bit before talking it over?

"You jump to conclusions in just a matter of seconds, saying all those things in your _stupid_ hot-headedness and _hurting_ people with your words, and you _left_, Harry, you left just like that without a backwards glance and I didn't know, I didn't _know_ what it all meant!" Draco hissed fervently, the intensity of the emotions blazing from his charcoal grey eyes. His voice had gradually gone all weak and brittle at the end when the blond remembered the despair, the pain that he had felt when Harry had simply _walked away_-

_your paper heart-_

_might just be a little bit too fragile-_

"In case it has conveniently slipped your mind, Labelle had one of his cronies to escort me out of the premises! What was I supposed to do?! Was I wrong, Draco? You need someone that is worthy of you, someone that you're proud to show off and not hide like some sort of dirty secret! If you compare the both of us, it's so plain that he's better than me in every way!" Harry admitted hotly, resentment skulking beneath his weakening confidence. He could deny it, but the truth behind his words was too much to ignore. Dismay simmered beneath the inferiority that trickled corrosively onto his heart. Harry clenched his fists in agitation, sinking his forehead down to the insides of his wrists. His eyes were closed, his head dipped while Draco simply stared at how defeated Harry looked. The brunette continued talking, the words coming out stilted and dry from his lips.

"I'm a simple person, Draco. I just want the man I love to be happy, I don't care about money, I don't care about status, but compared to you, everything's completely different. I'm not good enough for you, I'll _never _make enough money to pander to your every need and want! I'll never, _never_ be good enough for you!" Harry reiterated, despising how pathetic it sounded when he said out loud the thoughts and insecurity that he kept cocooned in the darkest recesses of his mind.

"What a touching speech, but please don't be offended if I don't clap for you," Draco smiled blandly. Streaks of disbelief _what's he playing at, why is he laughing at me_?!- jetted through Harry's bloodstream like unguided missiles. The blond fixed Harry with a level stare, his eyes glittering coldly and a hint of a sneer sullying his lips. His features were schooled into a show of indifference, and Harry recoiled.

"Yes, I did look down on you initially. Think about it, Potter. You failed to register on my radar as someone that was worth my time. You're good-looking, I'd give you that, but besides that, I could have my pick of men that could easily surpass you in the looks department and everything else. So when I received your… rather ill-thought out owl, I thought it might be a fun game to play, so I co-operated with you, but on _my _terms, of course," Draco drawled callously, his eyes silky with detachment.

It hurt Harry like a cold stab to hear all of it being excavated like that, rolling off impassively from Draco's tongue, but he tempered down his rashness and forced himself _there has got to be a point to this_- to be patient.

"We all know how the first date went, didn't we? There was too much promise, but too little delivery. But things did improve as we progressed further, and I found myself actually... enjoying the time that I spent with you. I didn't understand why, but-" Draco halted suddenly, hesitating like a young boy that had carelessly forgotten his lines in a play.

Harry's head slowly rose, and astonished, disbelieving green eyes blinked.

"And then you got yourself injured, and it was strange how worried I was for you as the days passed. It was strange how I felt like there was something… _wrong_ when you weren't with me. It was strange how those little imperfections that I didn't like about you suddenly turned into something more bearable," Draco said quietly, the edge in his voice beginning to soften. His ceaseless curtain of aloofness was cracking, and Draco's lips quirked up in a quick twitch of a smile.

Harry's clothes were cheap, common and nondescript, and on top of that, Harry dressed like he was escaping from a burning building, but it was funny how Draco had slowly come to accept that. The brunette was like a breath of fresh air to Draco, and with Harry, his life was turned upside down and inside out, exactly like how a small child would pick up a snow-globe and shake it with all his might.

"What got me so mad was that you didn't ask me how I felt about all of this. You just automatically assumed that this wouldn't last because of the differences between us. I… know that I'm not an easy man to be with, but I just want… _I just want_…" Draco trailed off, the unsteadiness in his voice giving him away. Unconcealed, aching need radiated in the blond's raw grey eyes, his emotions churned in an endless wreck of a cycle deep within his heart.

His inhibitions were skating perilously close to the edge, before falling over into the abyss and shattering into pieces. Draco's words came out in a heated, frenzied torrent as he once again took to pacing, his footsteps tapping an irregular, aberrant tempo on the floor.

"Would you believe me if I said that I don't find expensive gifts and costly meals to be important anymore? I don't want filet mignon every dinner anymore, I don't want diamond-studded watches for my birthdays anymore! Everyone else, every other man that I've dated has placed so much emphasis on their wealth, each and every one of them trying to impress me, but you, you just make me… _you make me happy_."

Harry's heart was beating like a drum in his chest, every cell in his body vibrating with excitement as he absorbed what Draco was saying.

"I want romantic moonlight walks at the beach with you where I can just stop thinking about work, where we could just spend hours talking nonsense. I want you to sing for me, I want you to sing those sentimental, mushy lyrics that I pretend to hate but really, deep down inside, I'm trying so hard not to fall in love with you even more. I want you to send me messages using your silly Muggle phone every single day to tell me how much you miss me. I want us to bake again where I can throw flour at you and then you'll give me the cookies that we made together, cookies that I'll keep looking at during work because whenever I see them I'll think of you, and I end so getting so distracted because I can't stop thinking about you! I don't care, Harry, I don't _bloody_ care if our whole date consists of sitting near a hot dog stand and eating cheap food, I don't _care_ about anything else as long as I'm with _you_!"

On paper they wouldn't work, especially when Harry's temper was paired up with Draco's inner fragility, but in real life they were positively _bubbling_ with potential. Draco vulnerably wrapped his arms around his abdomen, suddenly feeling shy by what he had just blurted out. The words hung in the air as though they had wings, and Harry's breath caught in his throat, his eyes full moons of surprise and shock.

"You've never said so much to me in one breath before," Harry remarked softly. He walked over to Draco, who still steadfastly refused to meet Harry's smiling eyes. Harry took hold of Draco's hands and tucked his fingers in the gap between Draco's fingernails and palms, uncurling Draco's hands from their tight fists. He brought Draco's wrist to his lips and feathered it with gentle kisses.

"Did you… did you really mean all that?" Harry asked.

Draco could only glare at the grinning brunette, his pale, pointed face swallowed up by an embarrassing blush.

"Draco, that day when I came over, I found something rather curious in your kitchen," Harry said and led the blond over to his kitchen. He reached up and opened that particular cupboard that housed the jars of honey that the brunette had stumbled upon.

"Oh, _that_," Draco laughed weakly.

"You have it in your office too, because I saw you hide it from me the first time I went there. Is this connected to the reasons why you don't eat much?" Harry tried.

"When I was young, I didn't really have a good appetite to start off with. I… put on weight easily if I eat too much. Then when I started working with Labelle, it became a habit for the both of us not to eat proper meals. The honey… staved away the hunger pangs. I spend most of the time in the office anyway. I can't cook, so when I get a bit hungry at home, I just eat the honey and the hunger goes away. It's convenient," Draco explained.

"I see," Harry said a bit too calmly. He stretched a foot, pulling the trash bin towards him. His eyes burning with determination, Harry began to dump the bottles of honey into the bin, much to Draco's horror.

"What are you doing, they're expensive, Harry, _stop_!" The blond shrieked, his eyes round with alarm. But the brunette continued his assault, not giving Draco a reply. Draco watched with consternation as the glass of the jars exploded into shards when Harry tossed them hard in the bin, the sticky, viscous honey congealing into an absolute mess.

"You won't need that rubbish anymore. It probably has zero nutritional value for you-"

"It's _not_ rubbish-" Draco started to protest, but his words wilted on his lips when Harry pulled him close and whispered in his ear.

"I'm going to take good care of you from now on. You don't need to worry about food, I'll handle all of it so you won't have to go hungry whenever you're home, okay?" Harry comforted, resting his hands protectively on Draco's hips. Harry's conviction warmed all of the empty places in Draco's heart, and the blond beamed, until a sudden cold thought sliced across his smile.

"I left your soup in the office, I need to go and get it back!"

"It's alright-"

"But you must have spent a lot of effort on it!"

"I'll make it for you everyday if you want," Harry said. Draco lowered his head and looked down at his toes, a blush as sweet as cherry blossoms spreading across his cheeks.

"Do you love me, Draco?"

The ex-Slytherin's head snapped up, pale echoes of doubt lingering in his eyes.

"We've only been seeing each other for two months, it's a bit too early for mentions of love, isn't it?" Draco said quietly, turning his head away _why is he rushing things now, don't tell me that we're going to argue about this again_- and his grip tightening on the edge of the kitchen counter.

"Just promise me that when you're ready to say it, don't hold back. Can you… can you do that?" Harry whispered, leaning in and filling his empty lungs with Draco's sweetly exquisite scent.

Draco's eyes went wide for a moment, before crinkling up in a slow smile. He agreed softly and interlinked their fingers together, savoring the closeness that they shared. Harry's touch was suffusing his senses, keeping him whole in a way that Draco never thought was possible.

"Are we… are we going to be okay?" Draco asked, his nerves flittering like fireflies all the way down to the tips of his fingers. There was this peculiar feeling, something like electrocuted butterflies zinging up down and around _that this could be it, this could be forever_- his brain, and Draco marveled at how Harry could draw out a whole range of see-sawing emotions in him; happiness as well as melancholy. This wasn't just a frothy romance, this wasn't a fling that could be simply forgotten at a whim.

_every time when you say my name a piece of me falls into place-_

"We'll work on it, Draco. We'll take things slowly, and I'll put up with your… uncommunicative ways and you'll bear with my temper and my… lack of money. I'm sorry for everything that I said that day, I didn't mean a word of it," Harry said, feeling bites of guilt threading its way through him.

"I'm sorry for what I said those few weeks ago. So now we're equal, yeah?" Draco murmured, planting a delicate kiss on Harry's cheek. The brunette sighed, loving the whisper of Draco's eyelashes against his skin.

_now is when perfect starts to show through the cracks-_

"So we're officially together now? We are, aren't we?" Harry gulped and said in a rush, wanting to get some sort of final confirmation from Draco.

Draco only smiled back cheekily, his playful eyes touched with edges of mischief.

"I'll let you fly a kite with me," Draco replied, an impish grin poised on his lips. Harry blinked, momentarily confused for a moment.

_"-I'll bring you back when you're officially my boyfriend then-"_

With that, Draco slid his arms around Harry's neck and touched their lips together briefly, with a promise of more kisses to come. A smiling Draco rested his cheek on Harry's shoulder, his hands wrapped possessively around the brunette's waist. His eyelids fluttered close like a hopeful child and he let out a soft sigh.

Harry's body seized up in an outburst of affection, and he hugged the blond tightly in his embrace. There were so many things that they didn't know about each other, and Harry wasn't done, oh no, he would _never_ be done with picking through the labyrinth that was Draco Malfoy.

_because in your eyes-_

_I'd like to stay-_

* * *

**/tbc**

So this is it, the two months in all of its glory.

But it's not going to end yet. There're still a few things that I've yet to accomplish, so Chapter 15 will officially be the last chapter of _Flirt_. Nothing's changed; Chapter 13 will be published next Friday.

I hope that you will still be here with me. (:


	13. Dirty Picture

**Flirt by xErised**

**Dirty Picture **

I think Draco's had enough fun being such a cocktease, hmmm?

* * *

"I need a fuck, Ron," Harry mumbled sadly, sinking his forehead dejectedly onto the wooden bar-top counter in the pub.

Beside him, Ron choked a little bit on his Firewhiskey.

"Y-Yeah, Harry?" Ron croaked out with well-practiced cautiousness.

"We did say that we would take things slowly, but I didn't think that sex was included in that too!" Harry huffed and took a long swig of his own drink before continuing. "Whenever I'm over at Draco's place, he prances around in his sodding jeans that are slung so low on his hips that I can see the tops of his bum, he's got no shirt on, no underwear on, and whenever I see him like that I keep that image burnt into my mind and I go home and wank like mad! It's like he enjoys watching me get all hot and bothered over him!" Harry wailed, ruffling his hair despondently.

The brunette sighed heavily, draped his arms across the counter and rested his chin on his elbow. His fingers drew squiggly patterns on the condensation of his glass. It was brilliant that Draco had made it a habit to come home earlier after work. He had given Harry the keys to his flat, and Harry had taken it upon himself to stock up Draco's kitchen with groceries and pop over to make Draco dinner. Of course the ex-Gryffindor didn't see Draco everyday; he didn't want to come across as too clingy.

But sex was a different matter altogether. A naked Draco was now a permanent fixture in Harry's head, turning his lecherous imagination inside out. Harry felt like a teenage boy all over again, spending his nights in bed, surrounded by used tissue wads and jerking himself off with his usual parade of explicit fantasies of the blond playing out in his mind.

"The both of you have already been official for three weeks, Harry, I would've reckoned that you would have made some sort of progress in that department… Harry? _Harry_?!" Ron tilted his head and frowned quizzically at his friend. Harry was staring vapidly into thin air, his green eyes glazed over and glittering oddly and a dopey smile on his face. The redhead blinked, leant back on his stool and peeked warily at the front of Harry's jeans.

Harry was hard, _very _hard.

"Harry!" Ron roared loudly, his eyes wide with horror. Harry jumped and knocked his drink over. The brunette swore under his breath and pulled his empty beer bottle upright. Ron gestured for the barman, who cleaned up the mess and prepared a fresh beverage for Harry.

"It's so obvious that Malfoy's playing hard to get, Harry. It's either that or he's got some dastardly plan up his sleeve. How does torture under sexual suppression sound? " Ron muttered under his breath. Harry purposely ignored Ron's dig at Draco. Granted, the redhead and the blond weren't outwardly hostile to each other anymore, but things were still tense between them. _At least Draco and Hermione seem to be getting along_, Harry thought to himself, feeling a twinge of relief.

"Did you try just… taking him like that?" Ron suggested, wrinkling his nose. Talking about Harry's sex life (or lack thereof) wasn't really what he had envisioned out on a night in the pub, but hey, Harry was his best mate.

"I never got a chance to! Every single time whenever I try to corner him, yes, he teases me with kisses and gropes all over, but when I wanna take it to the next level he wriggles out of my arms and gives some silly excuse. It's clear that he enjoys it, but he's holding back!" Harry explained, his voice rising with exasperation.

"Maybe you've got to do it the other way. Start off things nice and slow, and you know…" Ron trailed off, raising his eyebrows and throwing Harry a suggestive look.

"I did that too!" Harry bawled. "I invited him over one night, made him an exceptionally nice dinner, with roses and candlelight and all! After dinner, well, we started to fool around, nothing rough at all, and then I brought him to bed. Things were progressing really well, but there was no taking off of clothes yet, my hands were still above his hips. I thought I was definitely going to get some that night-"

"That's great. You've got to be real gentle and delicate, steer clear of touching places that um… he might not be used to. And then what happened?" Ron encouraged.

"I… grabbed his crotch," the brunette finished hopelessly, his face a sizzling mortified red. "He let out this adorable little squeak and pushed me off, saying that he was tired and he really should be making his way home, thank you for the wonderful dinner, but I knew, I just knew he was playing with me because he smirked at me, Ron! I mean, who bloody _smirks_ when he's tired?! I'm only in my late twenties, I can't be unattractive! Is there something wrong with me?! I'm not balding, am I? My body's still fine, isn't it, Ron?! Is there such a thing as premature aging? Oh God, I'm going to die a sad, lonely old man because I'm not getting any!" Harry rambled, horror and panic apparent in his voice as he dissolved into a useless heap of misery on the floor.

"Harry, mate, pull yourself together! Maybe he was just shocked that you suddenly touched him there like that-"

"Ron, what would you know? The only person you've dated is Hermione," Harry grumped.

"That's besides the point!" Ron hollered back, looking down in mild embarrassment.

"It's different for guys! We don't need those… sensitive vibes that you've got to have for the girls! I want Draco, he wants me, so I should be pushing him up against the wall and fucking his brains out! There's no need for words, no need for explanations or reasoning whatsoever, fuck, Ron, I want him and his tight little arse so bad," Harry hissed heatedly, thumping a fist down in utter frustration.

"Yeah okay, Harry, I get the point," Ron swallowed uncomfortably and clapped Harry on the back consolingly. "Guess there's nothing you can do but wait."

"I was looking forward to this weekend, remember I told you about Draco and me going away, just the both of us? Well, he cancelled it because of work," Harry sighed, slumping back down on the counter. "I thought I would be guaranteed sex then, but hey, what do you know, his job comes first, of course," Harry complained grouchily. He knew he wasn't supposed to be angry, but it still hurt a bit to have his hopes suddenly dashed so rudely to the ground.

"Yeah, about that," Ron started, clearing his throat. "Since you've already gotten time off from work, why don't we go over and watch a Quidditch match live? Just the two of us? I shouldn't have a problem freeing up my days too. How's that sound?" Ron offered, his eyes round with deceptive innocence.

"That'll work fine, I reckon. It's better than spending my days moping around the house with absolutely nothing to do," Harry agreed. Ron dredged up a smile, tipped the bottle down his throat and finished off every drop of his Firewhiskey in one gulp, a secretive little smirk on his lips.

_You owe me one, Malfoy._

* * *

As usual, Portkey Central was a huge, buzzing hive of organized chaos. Families, along with spotty teenagers and snotty toddlers were taking advantage of the long weekend for short trips. Businessmen and businesswomen were part of the mix too, their eyes hooking onto their gleaming diamond watches every few minutes while their shoes and heels clicked sharply on the floor like castanets. Couples sat on the couches, their bodies entwined lovingly around each other while they waited for their Portkey number to be called for their romantic getaways.

Harry's eyes lingered dolefully on the couples.

"Come on," Ron said, gently nudging Harry away. Ron's luggage suddenly fell to the ground, and Harry was just about to bend down and pick it up for the redhead when Ron immediately blocked the brunette's way and snatched it up himself.

"A bit too heavy," Ron grinned apologetically and grunted exaggeratedly, making a big show of pushing the luggage upright.

A cool female voice rang out amongst the typical hubbub and excitement, reminding everyone to check in their bags and to surrender their wands for a thorough checking before they could board the Portkey. A few large signboards hung right at the middle of Portkey Central, detailing the destination, timing and number of each Portkey that was in use for each hour. After each shift, the writing on the boards would magically be erased and replaced with the schedule for the next hour. There were immense glittery signs (Asia, Australia, Europe, America, etc.) scattered around the area that floated and twirled high up in the air, giving directions to the different Portkeys in the Central that led to different parts of the world.

"Don't we have to check in our bags first?" Harry asked as he tagged behind Ron, who was walking at a brisk pace. Ron was leading the both of them away from the crowds, and Harry blinked rapidly and stopped in his tracks altogether.

"Ron? Why are we going to the private Portkeys section? Don't tell me you booked one, you know how terribly expensive they are!" Harry fretted. Ron doubled back and grabbed Harry's wrist, physically pulling the brunette over.

"Just follow me," Ron said cryptically. Harry followed obediently, his brow furrowed in curiosity. It was obvious that this particular area was sequestered off to those who could afford luxuries like private Portkeys; rich celebrities and business people that Harry recognized only in the media lounged in the affluent plush seats, sipping on martinis and nibbling on caviar. Their bags were kept beside them, saving them the trouble and time of checking in. Soft opera music was piped into the surroundings. There were well-dressed help who hovered and fluttered around the passengers, ready to render their assistance if needed.

"I had some… doubts about your ability to present Harry to me, Weasley."

Harry's head swiveled towards that oh-so-familiar drawl, feeling his own heartbeat speeding up.

There stood Draco Malfoy, his arms crossed haughtily and leaning lazily against a wall, a supercilious smirk directed towards Ron.

_"-so I should be pushing him up against the wall and fucking his brains out!"_

A blushing Harry quickly looked down and surreptitiously adjusted the front of his jeans.

"Well, he's here, isn't he?" Ron snapped, annoyed.

"Hang on… the both of you…" Harry said, amazed as he quickly connected the dots, his gaze travelling from Ron to Draco, and back to Ron.

"Malfoy wanted to give you a surprise, so he gave me a call and insisted that I go along with it. He owes me a favor now," Ron explained, raising his voice marginally and saying his last sentence pointedly. In reply, Draco rolled his eyes heavenwards. Ron grinned sheepishly at Harry and clicked open his own luggage.

It was completely empty.

"The trip never got cancelled," Draco said, his eyes twinkling with mischief at a slack-jawed Harry.

"You mean we're still going to Paris for one week?" Harry managed to stammer out, shock and astonishment reverberating cheerfully in his heart. Draco nodded, an equally thrilled expression on his face. With that, the brunette rushed over to Draco and launched himself into the other man's arms, hugging him with life-threatening intensity. The blond laughed, dropping a lovely kiss on Harry's mouth. Harry beamed and kissed Draco back briefly, his hands lowering down to Draco's waist and squeezing tenderly.

It suddenly dawned on Ron that he had never seen Malfoy so happy before, each and every emotion splattered messily all over his pale, pointed, ferrety face. The redhead shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, unsure _maybe… maybe he really fancies Harry_- of what to do. With his mega-watt grin still plastered sloppily on his face, Harry hurried towards Ron and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you," the brunette murmured.

"S'nothing. Just go and enjoy your holiday, alright?" Ron said, smiling back at Harry. Harry drew back and jerked his head towards the washrooms.

"Be right back."

Ron and Draco watched as Harry darted off. The redhead lumbered over to Draco, his brusque blue eyes meeting Draco's penetrating grey eyes head-on. Ron scratched his head uncertainly before speaking.

"I'm glad you make him so happy."

"I like seeing him happy," Draco replied, a merest shadow of a smile still clinging onto his lips.

"I'm not good with words, so let me put it this way. You break his heart and I'll break your face. You got that clear?" Ron said gruffly, his mouth straightening out into a threatening scowl. Draco ran his tongue inside his mouth slowly and took a step towards the other man, his piercing gaze never once wavering from Ron's.

"Crystal," Draco enunciated silkily, dragging that single word out to three long syllables.

"Good," Ron huffed, retreating a few paces. "Anyway, you owe me one, don't you, Malfoy?"

"How very like you, Weasley. Cashing in your favors now?" Draco asked lightly, raising an eyebrow in dainty query.

"Yeah, so what if I am?" Ron blustered. The redhead stared at Draco for a moment more, before sighing and moving closer towards the blond. He turned his head from side to side, dropped his chin discreetly and licked his lips, his words coming out in a confidential hush.

"Malfoy, you have _got_ to let Harry fuck you."

"_Excuse_ me?!" Draco exclaimed, his eyes round islands of shock and disbelief.

"Look. Don't get this the wrong way. I have no interest in your… sex life with him, honestly. I love Harry like my own brother, but there comes a limit when he starts going on about your tight little arse and how much he wants to spend the whole night fucking it. I can't take it anymore, Malfoy! It's alright with me if he wants to wank to you every other night, but when he starts to talk to me about it, bloody _hell_, Malfoy, there has to be some sort of line that can't be crossed even between best friends!" Ron said hysterically, his hands gesticulating agitatedly with every squeak of his voice.

"Don't worry about it, Weasley. I'll make sure that he'll be very, _very _satisfied in that particular department," Draco promised seriously, nodding.

"Brilliant. Guess I'll be off then," Ron said, relenting. He cracked a genuine half-smile and clapped Draco so hard on the back that the ex-Slytherin's whole body jerked forward. Harry reappeared just in time to wave Ron goodbye. The brunette then looked at Draco with starry, expectant eyes, that identical soppy smile settling on his mouth again.

"Come on," Draco prodded, grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him towards him. The blond rattled off their names, their destination and their Portkey number to a lady tending to the Europe Portkeys.

"Is this your first time taking a private Portkey?" Draco asked as they were led away to a curtained-off section. There were a handful of people emerging from different rooms of varying sizes, apparently returning back home from their trips abroad.

"Yeah… We do use Portkeys during work, but we don't really have the budget for private ones. Um… where're your bags?"

"They're already at the hotel. I went there just a few hours ago to check that everything was perfect. Have you been to one of my hotels yet?"

"Not to the one in Paris," Harry replied, rubbing the back of his neck in a slightly bashful manner. Draco gave the other man an encouraging grin, and in no time at all, they were whisked away to the exhilarating city of Paris. Harry stumbled a bit on his feet for a moment, shaking his head to clear away the residual giddiness that always ensued after a jarring trip via Portkey.

"Bonjour, Messieurs. Monsieur Malfoy," an officer smiled while he greeted both men warmly, a gloved hand rising up to tip the brim of his hat towards them. Harry smiled back at him in return and stumbled forward. Draco, on the other hand, looked perfectly unruffled during the transition from London to Paris. Harry took in his surroundings with inquisitive eyes. It seemed to be the area reserved specifically for travel by Portkey. Small blocks of cubicles had been erected for groups of people, regardless of size, to be transported effortlessly from all corners of the world to the hotel. Two officers were stationed to guide the guests to various parts of the building.

"That's the Apparation room. It's the only location in here where you can Apparate, and of course, only registered lodgers and personnel are allowed to Apparate straight there, for safety purposes," Draco explained when he caught Harry casting a curious glance towards another room where a small string of people were streaming out from.

Harry and Draco threaded through small clusters of people, all decked out in designer clothes and accessories. The lobby was as wide and vast as a palatial banquet hall, complete with majestic winding staircases that led up to a lounge and a bar. Harry let out a gasp of awe at his surroundings when he saw the abundance of opulent crystal chandeliers that studded the ceilings. The décor was sleek, silver and modern, complete with extremely comfortable plush chairs. The tables had glossy international magazines sprawled across them. Porters, doormen and the concierge were in full battle gear, their livery impeccable and spotless. Their shoes clicked importantly against the marble floor, and Harry actually had to stop walking for a moment and savor the luxury and… hedonism of it all.

Only one or two families were present, and even Harry knew that they were celebrity families. It seemed that the clientele catered mostly to celebrities, especially tabloid-worthy couples that would probably break up during the following week and prestigious magnates that Harry had caught fleeting glimpses of at Pansy's wedding.

"Wow, Draco, I can't believe that you own this place!" Harry said, his eyes shining in amazement.

"Actually, it's me and Millicent who owns it. Fifty-fifty," Draco clarified. "Good afternoon, Marcel. I trust everything is fine," the blond tipped his head to one side and drummed his fingers on the reception counter.

"Monsieur Malfoy! Bonjour, Monsieur Potter!" Marcel beamed merrily at both men. "Your room is ready, but may I have your wand for configuration, Monsieur Potter?" Marcel asked politely in accented but fluent English. Harry fumbled in his pockets for his wand and surrendered it to the Frenchman. Meanwhile, a woman flounced up beside Harry and rapped rudely on the counter, summoning service immediately.

Harry recognized her at once as a socialite whose only job was going to parties and clubs and getting drunk, drugged and fucked all at once. She was wearing way too much makeup and dressed in a trashy, skimpy way. Georges, another staff situated beside Marcel, raised an eyebrow in disdain at her attire, but nevertheless rose and asked her in a perfectly civil manner what it was that she required.

"I need a presidential suite, top floor, best view of the pool and the streets at this instant, no questions asked," the woman demanded shrilly, her wand already pulled out and banged unceremoniously on the counter.

"I do apologize, but we're fully booked at the moment-"

"Six thousand Galleons to _each_ of the reception staff on duty right now if I get what I want," she shot back without batting an eyelid, a crafty sneer on her features. Georges paused only for a split second, before nodding deferentially at the woman and accepting her wand.

"Please have a seat. I will be back with you shortly." With that, the socialite turned and tottered away on her skyscraper heels, but not before giving Harry the once-over and throwing his jeans and scudded sneakers a disgusted look.

"Are you just going to let her have her way just like that?! What's going to happen to those guests that are occupying the suite that she wants? Are you going to kick them out?!" Harry appealed, piqued. Draco only leant his head against his palm casually and smiled artfully at Georges.

"We weren't really fully booked, were we?" The blond asked lightly.

"No, sir, not at all," Georges said teasingly, a sly little grin on his face.

"In this world of ours, Harry, money talks. If you have to ask, you probably can't afford it. You might think of this as snobby, but this is how we operate," Draco remarked matter-of-factly, his glittery grey eyes a blaze of cool competence. Harry frowned slightly and looked away, his eyes drawn to a particular scene playing out near the doors. There were two men outside the hotel, and they seemed to be requesting for entrance into the building. One of them furtively pulled out a heavy bag of coins and placed it covertly in the palm of the burly doorman.

He was allowed entrance, proof that only the wealthy had the liberty to step foot in here.

"Here is your wand, Monsieur Potter," Marcel trilled, startling Harry from his thoughts. Harry retrieved his wand, only to see their room number etched at the side of his wand.

"Not to worry, the markings will be gone when Monsieur has ended his stay with us. Simply swipe your wand against the doorknob to unlock it, and Monsieur is now free to Apparate at will into the hotel premises, but only if Monsieur has his wand with him. Have a nice day!" Marcel chirped flamboyantly, bowing deeply.

Harry and Draco made their way up to their room, the brunette's heart thudding fast with anticipation and desire. Harry smacked his lips together hungrily, eyeing Draco's arse greedily as though it was a morsel of pure decadence. Draco swiftly unlocked the door with ease, and the ex-Gryffindor stepped in, every pivot and whirl of his eyes soaking up the scene that welcomed him.

Whimsical and dreamy paintings of the streets and The Seine of Paris adorned the lively sunflower-yellow walls. A crystal-cut bowl filled with potpourri sat placidly together with a frosted vase of fresh daisies on the mahogany table of the main room that served as a hall. A thick creamy rug rustled softly under Harry's feet, and the brunette quickly took his shoes off, not wanting to dirty anything.

Harry slowly wound his way through the suite, an expression of admiration on his face. A basket of croissants, buttery, flaky and glazed in a tempting shade of nut-brown were practically begging to be eaten. Chocolate truffles and chocolate mousse, resplendent in their lavish packaging, lolled on the kitchen counter. A wide variety of teabags were available, twinned with two dainty teacups and saucers made of fragile porcelain.

"Draco, you have to let me pay for half of this, and for the Portkey too, all of this couldn't have come cheap!" Harry insisted.

"Don't be silly-"

"No, really, I can't expect you to pay for this simply because you're more familiar with everything. Look, I'll take care of our meals and the other expenses throughout the trip, alright? Then it's fair that way," Harry pressed on. Draco paused momentarily, before nodding. The sides of Harry's eyes crinkled up in a wide grin as he continued his exploration into the bedroom, his cock already hardening in expectation-

The crowning glory was a double bed, its sides swathed in translucent, ivory damask. A pair of marshmallowy pillows was at the head of the bed, covered with a duvet that was fluffed to perfection.

"Like what you see, hmmm?" Draco purred teasingly, his eyes half-lidded and his lower lip caught tantalizingly between his teeth. His lithe body was leaning against the door-jamb, his arms folded and his ankles crossed.

Was it Harry's imagination, or did Draco thrust his hips up just that little bit?!

Usually, a normal, healthy Harry that did not have a sex-addled brain would probably smile happily and reply that yes, the accommodation was perfectly fine, and thank you very much for arranging everything, and shall we go out for a soothing walk in the lovely boulevards of Paris, Draco darling?

But we're talking about an extremely horny Harry who has been mercilessly teased by a very sexy Draco Malfoy for the past two months, three weeks and two days, and _counting_.

"Let's fuck," Harry snarled bluntly, rushing towards a squawking Draco, shoving him up against the wall and unclasping his own jeans with one hand while his other hand snaked up Draco's body, his skilful fingers tracing the valley up the blond's spine.

"Glad to know your priorities," Draco quipped dryly and firmly planted his palms on Harry's chest, pushing the brunette away.

"Stop fucking with me, Draco, haven't you played with me long enough-"

"_Au contraire_. I'll let you fuck me whenever you want me, however you want me, and wherever you want me, but only after I've made the first move. I like seeing you like this, Harry, I like to see how I'm able to reduce the great Harry Potter into a mound of quivering flesh just by doing this-"

With that, Draco slipped a hand into Harry's open jeans, brushing his fingers invitingly up Harry's erection.

Harry groaned, his eyes closed while he writhed shamelessly in Draco's touch.

"The more desperate you are, the more I'm not giving it to you. Now zip your pants up, Potter, and grab your coat. We're going _out_," Draco commanded imperiously, shooting Harry a pleased look. His thin lips were hiked up in a flirtatious smirk as the blond turned and trotted out of the bedroom, leaving a poor Harry, with his jeans undone and his long-neglected libido climbing the walls in his wake.

* * *

Harry's neck twitched as he surveyed the image of the beautiful blond sitting across the dinner table. They were in the hotel restaurant, yes, Harry could go on and wax lyrical about how magnificent and grand everything was, but _fuck_, Harry had other more pressing matters at the forefront of his brain.

Namely sex.

Or lack thereof.

It was their third night in Paris.

They still had not fucked.

The first two nights had been absolute hell and heaven for Harry; to be able to share a bed with the sexiest man he had ever set eyes on, but not being allowed to touch him in ways that Harry spent hours fantasizing about.

_"We're practically naked, Draco, let's do it now-"_

_"I highly doubt that wearing a shirt and a pair of shorts count as being practically naked."_

_"You know what I'm saying, come on, I'm so horny-"_

_"I would appreciate it if you removed your hand from my crotch, and stop breathing so heavily, it's disturbing."_

_"Fine. I'll sleep way over at the other side of the bed, so you won't get affected at all by a desperately panting man who's practically drooling at the mouth."_

_"Potter! Get your arse back here now!"_

_"…"_

_"Doesn't mean… that I don't wanna cuddle."_

Paris wrapped around Harry like a quilt weaved with threads of enchantment and magic. They had shared an ice-cream cone in the park where ornately decorated fountains spouted a never-ending cascade of sparkling water. There was the delightful scent of Paris rippling idly in the breeze, a sharp contrast to the hustle and bustle of the shopping strips and flea markets that the both of them had strolled leisurely through.

Harry realized that his favorite hobby was simply people-watching by lazing in the small cafés that dotted the streets and sipping on their café au lait while they enjoyed the sun's rays which shone down on them like a blessing. They savoured bite-size soupcons of fruit tarts, their exterior painted shiny with glaze and dusted with a light rainfall of powdered sugar. There were small cupcakes with webs of candy-pink spun sugar, praline and cream, flan parfaits and colorful and perfectly dome-shaped macarons with a positively sinful filling.

There had been this particular incident when Draco had run into a business friend in a café. Harry had looked down and waited patiently while the both of them exchanged pleasantries. When it seemed as though the other man was about to embark on some talk about work, Draco had glimpsed the mild discomfort in Harry's fixed grin. The blond had smiled politely at his friend and said, "Excuse me, but I don't mix business with pleasure." With that, the man dipped his head apologetically and left.

Harry had to fight to keep the silly smile off his face the whole day.

The only hiccup throughout the trip was that Harry seemed to have a predisposition to touch Draco every chance that he could. Whenever they sat down, Harry's hand would automatically sneak towards Draco and start to fondle the ex-Slytherin's inner thighs.

Well, that was until Draco had threatened to hex Harry's balls off if he ever tried that blatant maneuver again in public, which brought them back to square one: Sex.

It had been like a bothersome bee that buzzed irritatingly around their heads, waiting to be released from the cell in which only Draco held the key.

"Don't you know that it's rude to stare?" Draco murmured loftily, training a sexually potent look onto a flustered Harry. "So, what do you want to eat?"

"You," Harry said feverishly, hooking his foot around Draco's ankle under the table. "Come on, Draco, let's skip dinner and go to bed. We'll call for room service when we're done, please-" Harry's pleas wilted on his lips as Draco proficiently unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt in a fluid motion, revealing a delectable expanse of pale, creamy skin, all for Harry's licking, sucking, biting, nibbling, _whatever the fuck I wanna do to him_-

Draco held Harry's predatory gaze while his own nimble fingers stroked his skin, his fingernails sliding and slipping sensually over the hollows and crooks of his collarbones. He brought a shoulder up, letting the top of his shirt slowly glide down, revealing the arousing curve and dip of his neck and shoulder.

Harry's pupils dilated as he stared brazenly at Draco's little show.

"Okay, let's leave now, let's go-" Harry gabbled, his words tripping and tumbling over each other in a haste to chivvy Draco up to their room and fulfill all of his filthy, pornographic, cavorting daydreams bit by fiery bit-

"Good evening, we'll have the seven-course dinner, and please, ask the chef to take his time. We've got the whole night, don't we, Harry?" Draco instructed the waiter and handed over their menus. The blond had shrugged his shirt up, and the corners of his mouth were lifted up in his patented smirk, his grey eyes dancing with faint flickers of amusement.

The blissful look on Harry's face deflated, along with his erection.

"What was that all about?! I thought we were going back, you were doing all of that-" Harry ranted indignantly, his fists clenched in vexation.

An unruffled Draco only propped his elbows up on the table and interlaced his hands together, his chin resting on the network of his fingers, his head crooked to one side. He regarded Harry with a theatrically sorrowful and heartrending expression of his own.

"But I'm _hungry_, Harry _darling_."

* * *

He would do a bloody striptease in front of the blond if it was necessary, but fuck, he had had enough of this! Harry huffed as he stepped out of the bathtub, his hair wet and thin rivulets of water dribbling down his chest and muscles.

No, Draco did not join him in the bath.

Harry had wet his body and soaped up his strategic bits and waited expectantly for five minutes for Draco to yank open the bathroom door and throw himself at Harry, where they would commence their night of sex and utter debauchery.

And in the end, a disappointed Harry had showered alone.

Lust, sleazy, obscene and mountainous, broiled and foamed in Harry, making him sweat with sexual promise. Draco had been hypnotizing him with his blowjob lips and subtle sexual innuendoes, shaping and adjusting his words precisely to play and tease Harry until the brunette was at breaking point.

A grumpy Harry tied a towel around his hips and finger-combed his hair roughly. After the sodding seven-course dinner, Draco had swept Harry away to both the bar and the lounge, choosing to turn a deaf ear to Harry's outraged protests. When it had all been finally over, Harry had breathed a sigh of long-awaited relief when Draco brought them back to their room.

Even before Harry could get his paws on him, Draco had bolted to the bathroom and taken a shower that had lasted for twenty minutes, but to Harry it felt like a fucking eternity. Harry had been lying in wait outside the bathroom door, crouched down and ready to pounce on the blond the second he came out.

But of course, that plan of attack had been foiled too.

As though Draco was privy to Harry's scheme, the blond had ignored the brunette's battle cry and deftly side-stepped Harry's tackle. Draco laughed maniacally as he twirled Harry around and booted him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

"Get a shower first, and then we'll talk!"

_But I don't wanna talk, I wanna fuck you_, Harry thought crabbily as he threw the door open-

-and came face-to-face with a half-naked Draco, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a foxy grin.

"Would you consider it too… forward if I asked you to… touch me?" Draco whispered, his right hand falling to his waist and sliding his fingers in between the gap of his jeans and his skin.

Something in Harry's brain short-circuited.

"W-What?" Harry croaked out weakly, his eyes completely focused onto Draco's nipples.

"Don't want it? Such a shame," Draco sighed dramatically and turned away, a kittenish smile lingering on his lips.

"No, I want it, I want it real bad!" Harry wailed, chasing after Draco and grabbing handfuls of the blond's arse lasciviously. "You don't know how much I want you, Draco."

The ex-Slytherin swung his hips to one side and faced the brunette with a shrewd smirk. Harry released his hold on Draco's body and bit down on his lower lip as Draco reached down to the front of jeans and lowered the zipper down inch by inch enticingly, as though he was a magician about to unveil his newest trick.

Draco bent down to pull his jeans off, and that was when Harry twined his fingers into Draco's hair, forcing the blond to look up. The brunette undid the knot on his towel with the other hand, causing the flimsy towel to fall to the floor. Draco moaned, his breath hissing ardently between his teeth as he leered at the other man's erection. The ex-Slytherin transferred his gaze onto Harry's face, and he could only let out a gurgled, helpless whimper when he saw nothing but animalistic hunger and desire.

Draco straightened up, not a single stitch of clothing on him and his smoky irises full of sex. His synapses firing, Harry immediately gawked at Draco's cock, wondering how fucking good it'll feel to take that in his mouth and wrap his tongue around every inch of it.

"You want me? Then take me, Harry," Draco inveigled, standing with his legs apart and his arms spread out, letting Harry scope out every sliver of his body. Harry launched himself towards the blond without further ado, managing to lick a strip of Draco's lips, only to be pushed away marginally. Draco's grip on Harry's shoulders relented for a split second, and Harry attacked again, this time succeeding in slipping his tongue between Draco's parted lips, but also being pushed away the second time.

Draco only gave a small, apologetic little pout, snaking a thigh in between Harry's legs and rubbing it up and down.

"Fuckin' tease," Harry growled impatiently. He slapped Draco's hands away and kissed the blond full on the lips with fervor, plundering his mouth aggressively, batting Draco's tongue aside as Harry used his teeth, tongue and lips in perfect harmony. Draco's arms slid around Harry's shoulders and squeezed, marveling at his velvety wet muscles and the exquisite set of his shoulders. Draco broke the kiss and dragged his tongue along the line of Harry's chiseled jaw, reveling in the wicked rush of sex thumping and flooding his veins, his groans electrifying the air around them.

Draco gasped in surprise when Harry let his hands trace the curve of his body, scratching the blond's hips lightly before one hand encircled around Draco's cock, Harry's other arm wrapping around Draco's waist possessively and pulling him closer until their bodies were pressed thrillingly together without an inch of space in between.

"My little Sl_u_therin," Harry purred, his voice as sweet and intimate as the voluptuous slither of sheets against sheets. Draco's grip tightened on Harry's neck, and his hand descended down to Harry's cock, only to be met by a sharp whack of Harry's wrist. It was an erotic rollercoaster advancing skywards, and Draco moaned louder when Harry's finger ghosted and pressed lightly against his entrance. Harry chuckled deeply and shifted his hand back to Draco's cock, palming it and driving Draco delirious with pleasure. The blond was in a state of euphoria, his fingers burrowed into Harry's hair and his hips thrusting into Harry's hand, enhancing everything to fever pitch.

"Please don't stop, _please_," Draco begged breathlessly, his voice jagged at the edges and punctuated with mewls and whines. With that, he threw his head back, his eyes screwed shut and a drawn out groan tearing out from this throat as he came. Harry smirked, brought his hand up and licked his fingers, his slick tongue moving and slithering into the crevices. Draco felt his heartbeat gradually return to normalcy, and he began to lap at Harry's collarbone, fancifully kissing and lacing Harry's body with licks all the way down to the brunette's abdomen.

Draco paused, his grey eyes blazing with intent and purpose and slowly got down to his knees, his teeth biting his lower lip in a pretense of innocence. Harry looked down at Draco with an equally demure look on his face and grabbed hold of his own cock, an eyebrow raised.

"Knew you couldn't resist," Harry hissed when Draco dove in, taking Harry in his mouth and treating the brunette to a full oral feast. Blond tendrils were twisted around Harry's hand and Harry's teeth were bared in sheer ecstasy. Delicious sounds peppered from Harry's lips, and it wasn't long before swirls of stars exploded behind Harry's eyes.

"Now we're even," Draco said, his eyebrows lifted mischievously as he licked his lips voraciously.

"For now," Harry grinned and carted the other man off to bed. He threw Draco on the bed, their limbs tussling and the sheets shivering with static and drenched in desire.

"How do you want it? Hard, fast, rough or slow, luscious and drawn out?" Harry murmured, his tongue tickling Draco's ear while he pinned Draco down.

"I'll take whatever you can give me. That is, if you can deliver it all," Draco whispered back tauntingly, his thighs already splayed open. Harry grabbed the backs of Draco's thighs and forced them open more.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it. I'll do every single thing, and _more_."

* * *

Harry woke up to the sound of the water running in the bathroom.

He roused himself sleepily from his cloud of a duvet, wriggling his toes against the sheets with relish. A happy little smile settled on his mouth when he thought of the previous sex-saturated night, and he fell back against the pillows again, sighing in a faraway manner.

_He's up? Bet he wants more_, Harry thought wantonly as he hopped out of bed energetically and wandered towards the bathroom.

"I love the way your bum wriggles when you do that," Harry grinned, eyeing Draco's swaying posterior as the blond brushed his teeth. Draco rolled his eyes and rinsed his mouth.

"And a good morning to you too," he said, scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror and fixing his hair to its usual impeccable state.

"Come back to bed. You were such a demanding bottom last night, baby. Wanna discipline you all over again," Harry murmured, bestowing kisses at the back of Draco's neck. Without any sort of preamble, the brunette grabbed Draco's arse-cheeks, and the blond squeaked. Harry inwardly admired that perfectly fuckable arse of Draco's and squeezed it again. _Definitely not a ten anymore, probably a fifteen, fuck, maybe even more_, Harry corrected Draco's bum score, beaming privately to himself at how he had fucked Draco's arse, grabbed it, groped it, licked it, and fucked it all over again last night.

"Sorry, Harry. I've got a meeting to attend. I guess I forgot to inform you. I'll be back in the early afternoon," Draco said apologetically and exited the bathroom.

That brought him crashing down from cloud nine to a thistle of barbed wires.

"W-What?" Harry stammered, crestfallen. "You're leaving me here, all alone?" He continued, dismayed. The brunette could only watch as Draco looped a tie around his neck, bristling with efficiency and authority.

"I've already ordered breakfast for you," the blond said, gesturing to the silver domes and trays that were on the kitchen counter. There were plates of pastries and bread, carved fruit, bacon and scrambled eggs, but all for one person.

"But I thought… I thought we could have breakfast together," Harry said, exhaling heavily in disappointment. He began to pull off Draco's shoes as Draco put them on, and Draco thwacked his hands away.

"It's important, Harry. Besides, I've already taken a lot of days off to be with you. There'll be two more meetings a few days after. I hope you'll understand," Draco explained softly. He saw the dejection in Harry's eyes, and Draco sighed. He leant in and pressed a heart-stoppingly intimate kiss on Harry's lips.

"I promise I'll rush back when everything's done, okay?"

Harry nodded mutely and watched sadly as Draco grabbed his briefcase and left the room. Harry trailed miserably after Draco, his shoulders sagging as the blond gave Harry one last kiss and let himself out of the suite. Harry slumped back to the bedroom and flung himself on the bed, still displeased at Draco's sudden departure. He reached for Draco's pillow and buried his nose in it, drawing in the sweet scent of his lover.

_it's not even five minutes-_

_but I miss him already-_

* * *

"I want you to get yourself drunk and fuck me."

Harry froze in his tracks and stared in surprise at the row of alcohol bottles and Firewhiskey that Draco had prepared. A giddy-looking Draco stood at the end of the queue, directing an indolent and languid smile towards Harry. Two opened and half-empty bottles of champagne lay at his feet. The brunette slowly made his way towards the blond, not really sure that Draco had just said what he thought he had said.

"I know you're thrilled that you got the deal during the first meeting yesterday, but-"

"Fuck yeah, Harry, I beat the rest of those geezers and got the deal! And everyone said that we couldn't do it 'cause Labelle wasn't involved!" Draco roared triumphantly, throwing his head back and whooping drunkenly. "Let's celebrate, let's celebrate by fucking! I can't stop thinking about that evening during Pansy's wedding, you were drunk and you were touchin' me all over, felt so fuckin' good, maybe it'll be better than our first time, Harry, get drunk and fuck my brains out!" Draco demanded, reaching down and taking another swig of champagne.

"I don't remember anything when I'm drunk, Draco! I don't want to have sex with you when I can't recall a thing the next morning!" Harry argued, grunting when Draco cannoned towards him, pushing him back into a chair.

"Does it matter, Harry baby?" Draco cooed in that husky, throaty whisper that coiled right into the brunette's ear. "We'll do anything and everything you want tonight. I always see you looking longingly at me and that huge dining table in the kitchen, yeah, I know, and that huge window at the living room. Fuck me there, fuck me hard and good, please, baby? I'm so damn horny right now," Draco purred provocatively, his seductive sing-song voice salting and slapping playfully at Harry's ear. Draco reached down and wrapped his fingers around Harry's awakening cock like a tongue around a lollipop. His fingers lifted up the champagne bottle and tipped a sizeable amount of alcohol down Harry's throat. The blond parted Harry's shirt, slathering his chest with kisses, nibbles and licks.

"Wait…" Harry said, stilling Draco's touches by enveloping the blond's wrists with one hand. The brunette whipped out his wand and cast a spell, summoning a tiny camera with fluttering pale blue wings that flitted around the pair. It was only for one-time use, but Harry reckoned that that was more than enough. The camera would self-destruct when its contents were replayed once.

"Kinky. I didn't know you were into that," Draco wolf-whistled, his eyes alight with a sheen of lewdness and raunchiness. Their clothes were shed in an abrupt jumble and Harry attacked Draco's neck with renewed vigor. Harry groaned when the blond feathered his fingers roguishly along Harry's bare inner thigh.

"Can't get enough of your cock," Draco breathed.

"No, not now," Harry dictated, hoisting Draco on his lap, the ex-Slytherin's back pressed against Harry's front. The brunette grinned and snatched up the Firewhiskey, trickling drip by drip down Draco's back. Harry caught each drop neatly with his tongue, but as the seconds passed, he let the drink travel lower and lower down Draco's spine. The taste of Draco, sex and alcohol mingled on Harry's tongue like the most intoxicating toxin, and Harry licked his lips when he saw Draco's hands clawing desperately at the handles of the chair. Harry jerked his hips up sharply, and Draco cried out loud when Harry's cock grinded excitedly against his lower back.

Harry drank a few gulps of Firewhiskey and pulled Draco's head back, pouring some down the other man's open jaws. Draco glugged it down carelessly, spills of Firewhiskey streaming down his arms, back and sides of his body.

"Fuck me. Fuck me, Harry, please," Draco groaned, closing his eyes and thrusting his arse out, frantically rubbing the length of Harry's cock up and down the crack of his arse. Harry gnashed his teeth together furiously and pushed Draco down on the floor on all fours. The blond's fingers bunched and fisted in the carpet, and he arched his back on purpose, his head turned backwards and his eyes glued to Harry stroking himself to full hardness. Harry retrieved the bottle of Firewhiskey and up-ended it on Draco's back. With that, the ex-Gryffindor leant forward and licked a series of criss-crosses _fuck, he doesn't discover sweet spots, he creates them_- from the back of Draco's neck, to his alcohol-drenched spine, to his tailbone, and even further down…

They were nothing but two bodies choreographed in heated perfection, and the night began to dissolve into a passionate and wild shroud of shiver and sighs.

* * *

"Holy _shit_, Draco," Harry muttered, utterly stupefied. With that last smutty scene of their late night love fest played out, the camera exploded into ribbons of confetti.

The whole place was in a mess; there were smatterings of lube here and there smeared on the walls, the gauzy curtains surrounding the bed were dangling for dear life on their holders, there were beer, champagne bottles and used tubes of lube littered all over place. The bed looked like a pack of merciless, rabid dogs had attacked it, and _fuck_, don't even get Harry started on the come stains.

There was that usual pounding in his head that ensued after a night of heavy alcohol consumption, but Harry ignored it to the best of his ability.

Besides, there were more important issues to settle.

"Kinda makes you feel like doing it all over again, hmmm?" Harry whispered, nuzzling Draco's shoulder, his hand already threading through blond strands.

"Touch me again, Potter, and I swear to Salazar you'll sleep in the hotel lobby for the rest of the trip. Fuck, my arse _fucking_ hurts," Draco complained through a mouthful of pillow. "And it's all _your_ fault! Sex, sex, sex! That's all you can bloody think about!" Draco roared, shooting Harry a withering look.

"It's not my fault if you kept on going," At this point, Harry cleared his throat and pitched his voice into a higher falsetto tone. "Harder, Harry baby, more, yes, just like that, don't stop, fuck yeahhhhhhhh!"

Silence reigned for a moment as both men glared daggers at each other.

His mussed hair resembling something remotely like blond scribbles, Draco tried to lift his body fully, but was only met with a sweet, yet tortured soreness.

"Feels like someone shoved a stick of dynamite up my arse and it exploded," Draco mumbled, his face a deep flaming scarlet of embarrassment when he remembered how sluttish he had been last night.

"Wow. I knew I was good, but not _that_ good-"

"That wasn't a compliment, Potter! You… you _sex fiend_!" Draco hollered, bashing the side of Harry's face with his palm. "I need a bath. I stink. And you stink too, Potter. Get the medicine kit over, there's some hangover potion and a salve for aches," Draco commanded. The brunette hauled himself out of bed and lurched to his feet, waiting for a while for the spots behind his eyes to clear. He returned shortly with the potions, giving one to the other man and drinking the other one himself.

"You need to shower before I can apply the salve on you," Harry said as he read the instructions. Draco gave a long-suffering sigh and pulled himself up, wincing. He slowly got out of bed and shuffled forward, performing the hobble of the recently (and violently) fucked.

"And don't you dare try to cop a feel of my arse," Draco warned.

Harry's hand, who had been hovering inches away from said arse, quickly snapped back.

"Do you remember that this was where I bent you over and fucked-" Harry started and grinned cheekily at the edge of the bathtub, but was silenced instantly when Draco shot him a death glare.

"I did not give you _carte blanche_ to fuck me for all its worth! Don't you know the meaning of stop-"

"That was the problem, Draco! You didn't say stop! I mean, you did say stop, but the word before it was 'don't', which changes the meaning quite a bit-"

"Don't argue with me! I'm _wounded_!" Draco bawled.

Harry firmly ordered himself to behave and meticulously helped Draco into the bathtub. He switched on the taps and got in carefully behind the blond, gently massaging Draco.

"That's more like it…" Draco sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Harry's hands on him and the soothing, lapping effect of the water, but wait, there was something prodding him at the back-

"Now is not the time to get _hard_, for Salazar's sake!" Draco shrieked, looking at Harry in unabated disbelief.

"It's a natural reaction! We're both naked, in the tub and my bits are touching yours! I can't help myself!" Harry wailed. Draco's features softened and he brought Harry's hand up to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

"Just nurse me back to full health, alright?"

Harry nodded determinedly and continued his caresses on Draco's shoulders.

"Draco?"

"Hmmm?"

"Does this mean no sex for the next few days?"

"... Must you still ask, Potter?!"

* * *

**/tbc**

I had to write the alcohol scene, I really had to! /grin


	14. Bloodline

**Flirt by xErised**

**Bloodline**

* * *

"Harry, I have absolutely _nothing_ to wear."

"Shirt, jeans, Converse sneakers, and you're all set," Harry muttered without missing a beat, barely nudging his nose out from the pages of his beloved Quidditch magazine.

"What exactly is… Converse?" Draco asked, wrinkling his nose and tilting his head in curiosity. "Is it those shoes that you wear all the time? Those scuffed shoes with those long, unkempt shoelaces that you absolutely insist on wearing even when we have dinner at fancy restaurants?"

Harry's eyes paused marginally at the sentence that he was reading before slowly peering out from his tousled mop of black hair. The brunette roused himself from his slovenly slouch and propped himself up with his elbows, a dismissive expression on his face.

"It's just a dinner, Draco. Just pop on something comfortable, nothing too fancy and we'll be off," Harry replied, sneaking a glance at his watch. A scowling Draco crossed the distance between his wardrobe and his bed easily with two long strides of his legs. With his murky grey eyes flashing with irritation, the blond flipped the magazine close with his fingers and shoved it to one side.

"It is not _just_ a dinner, Harry Potter! Do you not know the importance of this so-called simple dinner that the Weasley seniors have invited me to? This is a test, some sort of arduous, scrutinizing ordeal that I've got to pass before they'll acknowledge me! I've got to be at my best, I've got to impress them to show that I'm serious about _you_, that I'm serious about _us_, don't you understand?! If I slip up and make a single mistake, a single _faux pas_, I'm gone! I'm gone, done, finished, _kaput_!" Draco rambled, panic fringing the edges of his voice.

Harry looked at his boyfriend of three months (excluding the initial two months) with blinking wide eyes. The Weasleys still hosted their monthly dinners for the whole family, and for the past few months, Harry had been going alone, just like old times. But it was only tonight that Arthur and Molly Weasley had asked Draco to come along, and the ex-Slytherin was obviously thrown in a tizzy over the supposedly suspicious invitation.

"Calm down, Draco, they just want to get to know you better-" Harry started.

"Don't ask me to calm down when I'm already calm!" Draco shrieked in agitation as he yanked his clothes out from his wardrobe and threw them viciously on the bed. The ex-Gryffindor had to quickly hop out of the way to avoid being buried under an avalanche of suits, ties and dress shirts. "Get to know me better?!" Draco hissed through gritted teeth while he pawed through the clothes ferociously, a crazed, manic look radiating from his eyes.

"Of course it's nothing to you, Harry, you've grown up with them, eaten at the dinner table with them, hell, you're an honorary Weasley, you can change your bloody name to Harry _Weasley_ and no one would bat an eyelid, but for me, oh no, it's different! The Malfoys and the Weasleys have been feuding for generations, and the things that I've said about them-" Draco cut himself off abruptly, his face paling when he recalled all the insults that he had inflicted on the Weasley family.

_"-never know the Weasleys were purebloods, the way they behave-"_

_"red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford-"_

"And… sweet Merlin, Harry, the Quidditch cheer that I came up with during our fifth year… I called Arthur Weasley a useless loser. I called Molly Weasley porky, ugly and fat and you remember, Harry, I called the woman who is going to graciously invite me to her home and treat me as one of her family _porky_!"

"That… um… does ring a bell-"

A frazzled Draco began to pace nervously, his teeth gnawing inelegantly on a knuckle. He tangled a hand in his blond locks, curling it twitchily around a finger. His intestines were squirming like a worried sea of snakes, and Draco increased his pacing even more, his arms swinging upwards heatedly as he continued fretting.

"They're going to form a lynch mob, gather ammunition and hurl every single one of them at me! There's around twenty of them, and there's only one of me! It'll be like chivvying the poor, innocent, little sheep into the jaws of twenty ravenous, bloodthirsty lions! I won't come out alive, I'll be devoured senseless, Harry, I'm going to… I'm going to-" Draco's voice deflated to a mere whimper and he stared at the dumbstruck brunette with horrified grey eyes.

"Tell them that I've got a bad case of the flu. And a stomachache. And a headache. And I've got diarrhea and vomiting symptoms. Do you think they'll ask for some sort of verification that I'm unwell? Do you think I should check myself in St. Mungo's, Harry?" Draco moaned in a bout of misery, throwing himself face-down into the tumble of clothes on the bed.

Harry gawked at a totally defeated Draco for a moment, before bursting into peals of laughter.

Honestly, Harry knew that Draco's over-active imagination was a quirk that took some time getting used to. It was rather adorable, but at times like this, it was perfectly preposterous.

"Why are you laughing?! This is no laughing matter, Potter!" Draco hollered, lifting his face up and eyeing Harry murderously from the jumbled disarray of his clothes.

"Then you could have told them that you didn't want to go," Harry pointed out gently, crawling over to the blond and hoisting him up to a sitting position.

"If I refuse to go, I'll seem snobby and everything, won't I? I… don't want to give them that impression. And besides, I know that this probably means a lot to you, you soppy Gryffindor. So I thought that I might make an… effort to integrate myself into what seems to be your non-official family," Draco muttered in a voice that was almost too low for Harry to catch. The blond's fingers were playing with the hem of a stray jacket neurotically, his eyes vulnerable and downcast. Harry smiled warmly at the other man, touched that Draco had thought of all that and chose to relegate his pride to the backseat for once.

"It's going to be fine, okay? You're already friends with Hermione, and Ron is on civil terms with you, Rose and Hugo adore you-"

"I'm worried about the rest of the Weasleys, not them," Draco said, nibbling on his lower lip uncertainly. "Especially George Weasley and… the Weaslette," Draco revealed, his voice trembling. "They're going to stuff you full with mashed potatoes until you can't move a muscle, they're going to abduct you and marry you off to that Weaslette! And it's all because of _you_, Potter! The only precious daughter of the Weasley family is in love with you and you rejected her! They're going to put my head on a _sodding_ stick because of _you_!" Draco wailed in distress and buried his head in his hands despondently while he dissolved into bits and pieces of unfounded paranoia.

"Firstly, she isn't the Weaslette, she's _Ginny_. And secondly, Ginny's no longer interested in me, she's recently started to date someone else! Lastly, there is no way that I will marry someone that I don't want to, so there will be no abduction, no kidnapping, nothing of that sort at all. Understand?" Harry explained clearly and slowly, prying Draco's wrists away.

"Really? So… they're all fine with us being together?" Draco asked in a small voice, his defenseless eyes peeking out from the slits between his fingers.

"I… um… don't know about that," Harry hedged. "But hey, look on the bright side, Ron's family's fine with us, I know Mrs. Weasley's fine too because she asked you along, and um… that's five out of… fifteen, so I reckon that's not… too bad…"

Draco could only let out a tortured groan and sink back into the pillows. But as though some alarming horror of a thought had jammed itself throughly into Draco's brain, the blond catapulted himself into a sitting position and shook a squealing Harry savagely by the shirt.

"Promise me that regardless of what they say, regardless of what they do, no matter how much they provoke me, you'll still be with me by the end of tonight, won't you, Harry?"

"Draco, listen to yourself! You're getting all worked up over nothing-"

"Promise me, Potter!" The ex-Slytherin roared frightfully into Harry's face.

"Yes, yes, I promise, Draco dear!" Harry shouted back hastily, and it was only then that Draco relinquished his hold on Harry's poor shirt and hauled himself out of bed. Harry looked at the other man with cautious eyes, gauging whether The Outburst was finally over.

"So. What should I wear?" Draco said calmly, sifting meticulously through his various tailored suits, pants and ties.

"All that's a bit too formal, isn't it? I think… these will do," Harry suggested, pulling out a black short-sleeved shirt with collars and a pair of jeans. Draco looked at both garments dubiously, then let out a long-suffering sigh and shrugged off his clothes, leaving only his underwear on. Harry grinned, placing the clothes that he was holding down on the bed and wrapping his arms possessively around the blond, a devilish slant on his eyebrows. Harry stared steadfastly at the mirror in front of both men, his flirtatious green eyes flitting appreciatively on Draco's body. Harry dipped his head and began to suck on Draco's neck, his hand travelling down to his bum and squeezing it lasciviously.

"Get a grip on yourself, Harry," Draco muttered, wriggling firmly out of Harry's lewd gropes and pulling on the black shirt and jeans.

"I'd rather get a grip on you," Harry purred. He stepped forward and dropped a last kiss on the other man's cheek, glad to note that Draco had been putting on a healthy amount of weight and was no longer all skin and bones. Draco had been getting used to eating three proper meals a day, thanks to Harry's ceaseless nagging, but the brunette hoped that Draco would be fine when he saw the whole smorgasbord of food that was sure to be present at the Weasley home.

"Ready to go now?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Draco said, replacing the last of the remaining clothes back in his closet. Harry heaved a sigh of relief and turned to walk towards the Floo, but not before he heard Draco's horrified squawk.

"Oh sweet Salazar, my _hair_!"

* * *

They arrived twenty minutes later than planned.

Both brunette and blond stepped out of the Floo at the Weasley abode. Harry had mentioned that the Weasley children (including Harry himself) had chipped in a decent amount of Galleons each to spruce up the place. It wasn't a mansion even after the work done, of course, but it had still retained that cozy, warm and lived-in feeling.

Pinkish, flittering rays of the late sunlight danced and shimmered over the small lake that resided in the garden. Fragments of fluffy clouds drifted in the sky as afternoon began to stretch into evening. Instead of the usual mess of weeds and over-grown grass, a cornucopia of flowers, ranging from deep purple hyacinths to sunshine beams of daffodils graced the lovingly tended garden. At the orchard, partially hidden by the huge trees, Draco could see people zipping up and down in the air on broomsticks.

The wallpaper in the interior of the Burrow was slightly faded, but still presentable nonetheless. There were two huge clocks mounted on the wall that didn't tell the time, but instead the present location of each and every member of the Weasley family. Things were rather messy in the sitting room, but it was no surprise since the home had a history of accommodating so many people. Moreover, Arthur and Molly Weasley enjoyed taking care of their grandchildren whenever they had a chance to, so the tables were littered with school textbooks, books and games. There was a hodgepodge of squashy couches and armchairs in colors that clashed horribly with the overall color scheme of the place. Draco could see seams of stuffing oozing out from one or two armchairs.

This whole scenario was a far cry from the regal and aristocratic atmosphere in the manor that Draco had grown up in.

The ex-Slytherin wetted his dry lips and stuck a finger in his collar, loosening it slightly. Riddled with self-doubt, Draco tempered down the trepidation that he felt and plastered on a bright little smile. It wasn't the bloody décor that he frightened to bits of, it was the _people_.

The circles of easy conversation and amiable chatter gradually ebbed away and slowed down to a stuttered stillness as the Weasleys registered the presence of Harry and Draco amongst them. Grey eyes immediately pinpointed the Weaslette sitting in a corner with George and Angelina, together with Fred and Roxanne, their kids. Draco matched Ginny's glare with an equally cool one in return, but he couldn't ignore the jerk of alarm that tugged on his heart. There was an icicle of awkwardness_ oh for Salazar's sake, they're looking at me as though I'm some sort of intruder_!- hanging forlornly in the air, and Draco gulped. He had made Harry give a verbal introduction of each Weasley before they had arrived, but as the blond tried to cycle through each name and each branch of the extended Weasley family, he realized that everything had all but flown out of the bloody window.

Harry saw the color mounting in Draco's cheeks and he quickly slipped an arm around the other man's waist.

"Hi everyone, this is Draco Malfoy, my boyfriend of three months. All of you'll make him feel welcome, won't you?" Harry said casually, planting a chaste kiss on the blond's cheek.

"How good of you to join us, Draco!" Molly Weasley greeted cordially, emerging from the kitchen. The jolly lady of the house wiped her hands on her apron and made a beeline for the wary blond. Draco was rapidly going through the etiquette rules _should I shake her hand, or_- that Narcissa had ingrained him since young.

"It's a pleasure to be here too, Mrs… Weasley," Draco said, stumbling a bit at the end. His hand fluttered slightly above his waist, ready to grasp Molly's proffered hand if necessary.

"Harry's told me a lot about you," Molly started, beaming sincerely. "Arthur's upstairs sorting out the ghoul in the attic who won't stop screeching, but he'll be down shortly. Do make yourself at home."

"Do you want me to help you with anything?" Draco offered pleasantly, much to Mrs Weasley vehement protests. George Weasley snickered loudly, and his wife elbowed him sharply.

"It was polite of him to ask!" Angelina hissed to the redhead under her breath.

"Just a few finishing touches and I'll have dinner ready. Do make yourself at home," Molly said, shooting Draco one last smile and bustling back into the kitchen. With that, Draco lingered uselessly in the background like a spare part, until Harry surreptitiously nudged Draco away from the spotlight and towards Hermione, who was sitting with Audrey, Percy's wife.

Draco's brain slowly started to click into place, and he civilly asked after Audrey's children, Molly and Lucy. Audrey looked rather surprised that Draco remembered, but replied graciously.

"Where's the rest of them?" Harry asked, raking the people in the sitting room with an inquisitive glance.

"Bill's family is in France visiting Fleur's parents. Ron, Percy and most of the kids are outside playing Quidditch," Hermione said, pausing when she saw that Draco's eyes were focusing somewhere else. The blond was pinioning Ginny's eyes with his own, a hint of a sneer forming at the side of his lips. He interlaced his fingers together with Harry and squeezed their hands together, a spark of triumph igniting his smirk when Ginny narrowed her eyes and looked away. George caught the exchange and raised an eyebrow at Draco, and the blond seemed like he was about to retaliate. Harry quickly whirled him away and started to introduce Draco officially to everyone else, making a mental note to tread a bit more carefully around George and Ginny.

Charlie Weasley was the nicest one out of the whole lot, his demeanor immediately becoming warmer when Draco asked how his dragons were doing. His cheeks were sprinkled liberally with the trademark Weasley freckles, and his hair was pulled up to a long ponytail. After listening to Charlie's prattling on about his dragons for a while, Harry and Draco moved on to George and Angelina, together with Fred and Roxanne. Angelina was friendly enough, and Draco marveled at how she managed to keep George Weasley in check with just a simple glare when he looked as if he was about to say something rude.

Roxanne, the only daughter of George and Angelina, had been staring non-stop at Draco with stars in her eyes, and the blond fidgeted slightly under her penetrative scrutiny.

"Rosy darling, you know it's rude to stare," Angelina admonished gently.

"But… But he looks like a Barbie doll!" Roxanne cooed in wonder, brightly displaying teeth in various stages of development. "Can I buy him and bring him home with me, Mommy?"

"That can't be done, I'm sorry, because your Uncle Harry owns me now, but I promise that when I'm available for sale I'll give you first priority. How does that sound?" Draco bent down and whispered confidentially in Roxanne's ear. The young girl giggled and nodded happily. George couldn't help but guffaw raucously.

"You know, Malfoy, you might actually be decent, for a change," he conceded, a tricky little grin playing on his lips.

"What on earth is a Barbie doll? Is it some sort of Muggle toy? It sounds rather fishy to me. Is it a girl doll? Or a boy doll? It sounds like a girl doll, but I don't look feminine, do I?" a perplexed Draco asked, shoving Harry to one side after their conversation with the couple was over.

"Well… it's a sort of blonde doll that girls dress up in puffy ballroom gowns and have things like tea parties and stuff like that. But it's a compliment of the highest order, honest!" Harry concluded promptly when Draco let out a strangled croak at the thought of being compared to a girl's mere plaything.

They left Ginny for the last, and Harry had swiftly ushered Draco away in a flurry when the perfunctory smiles Ginny and Draco had traded seemed to be a bit too frosty for his liking.

"Mister Malfoy!"

In pattered a series of small feet, along with Ron and Percy. A tutting Hermione immediately whipped out a face towel and began wiping the sweat off a widely grinning Hugo and Rose. Ron stood innocently beside Hugo and waited for Hermione to do the same to him. Hermione sighed, flipped the towel around and gently mopped Ron's flushed cheeks, but Draco could see a small, adoring smile lurking behind her half-annoyed expression.

"Hello there," Draco said, lowering himself to Hugo's height and ruffling his hair affectionately. The ex-Slytherin had gotten closer to both Hugo and Rose during the past few months, much to Harry's delight. Hermione had invited Draco over for a meal at their house, and since it had been Hugo's turn to choose the weekend movie, he had carefully selected 101 Dalmatians, an animated film. Draco had scoffed and turned his nose up at watching a kid's cartoon, but it wasn't long before Hugo was curled up on Draco's lap, flanked by Rose and Hugo's Pooh bear at the blond's sides. A transfixed Draco, Hugo and Rose had stared avidly at the screen, not moving a muscle except to ferry more popcorn in their mouths. At a crucial point in the movie, Draco couldn't hold it back any longer and had shrieked "Cruella, you _bitch_!" passionately at the television, making Hugo and Rose jump beside him.

Harry had been amazed to notice that Draco seemed to be enjoying the movie (even though he had adamantly refused to admit it later) as much as the kids.

"Have you ever been surrounded by so many Weasleys before, Mister Malfoy?" Hugo asked curiously, tilting his head to one side. Draco shook his head, and Hugo gave the blond a toothy grin.

"Then you better behave yourself, Mister Malfoy, if not I'll get... I'll get Uncle Harry to pinch your bumbum!" Hugo trilled playfully.

"Oh, I'm afraid he's done a lot more than that," Draco answered cheekily, a light scarlet tint spreading across his cheeks when he remembered exactly _what_ Harry had done to his arse three nights ago.

A stunned silence in the Weasley household ensued.

Draco flailed helplessly and pressed a hand to the side of his face, his grey eyes puddles of embarrassment as he tried to think of something intelligent and appropriate to say after that mortifying revelation. His veneer of cool modesty was crumbling as his face reddened steadily, matched by Harry's own deep blush.

"… Uncle Harry does things to your bum? What does he do, Mister Malfoy? Uncle Harry, do you do things to everyone's bums? Or do you do it to Mister Malfoy only? Why don't you do things to my bum too, Uncle Harry? Mum, why are you pulling me away, Mum, _Mum_!" Hugo wailed as Hermione carted Hugo and a giggling Rose away to the bathroom.

"Dinner's ready, so wash your hands," Hermione ordered, ironing over the uncomfortable silence effectively. Grateful for the intervention, a relieved Draco flashed Hermione a quick smile.

The family filed out in the backyard, where the tables and cutlery were already set. Draco recoiled slightly when he saw the sheer magnitude of food that sat ponderously on the tables. There were two fragrant chicken and ham pies with their perfectly baked crusts and sprigs of parsley gracing the pies right at the middle and mountains of creamy herb-seasoned mashed potatoes. There was a tray of piping hot chicken casserole, monster slabs of lamb chops resting on a bed of steamed broccoli and drenched in a torrent of rich, luscious sauce, fat, juicy fingers of fried sausages and fried tomatoes with delectable char lines on their skins. A big pot of cream of pumpkin soup, together with a gargantuan bowl of tossed salad, made up of homegrown vegetables such as tomatoes and cabbage was also offered up on the table that was practically groaning with the amount of food on it.

"Harry…" Draco said pleadingly, tugging on the hem of Harry's shirt.

"Hey, it's going to be fine. Take a bit of everything, and if you want to, you can always help yourself to seconds. Just don't throw away any leftovers, Mrs Weasley won't be pleased at all if you do that," Harry warned, kissing a grimacing Draco lovingly on the forehead. Whenever he cooked for Draco, he would make sure that the portions on the plate weren't too large for the tiny appetite of the blond's.

When everyone was seated and were beginning to help themselves to the dishes, Draco could feel Molly's raptor eyes on him. Draco gulped and scooped up a large mound of salad and some meat. He dropped thimblefuls of potatoes (carbohydrates) on his plate, but froze when Molly's voice rang out.

"Is the food not to your liking, Draco?"

"No… really, everything looks delicious-"

"We ate before we came," Harry lied, and Molly scoffed.

"Everyone knows that you never eat before you come for dinner here. Now, Draco, do take more mashed potatoes and chicken and ham pie! They're my specialties," Molly recommended, puffing her chest out proudly. "You've got to eat more, Draco, I don't need to look twice at you to know that you're _frightfully_ skinny under those clothes! Has Harry not been taking proper care of you?" Molly commanded, clucking disapprovingly at the brunette.

"No, it's not that! Harry cooks wonderfully! I'll just help… myself…" Draco said weakly, trying hard not to wince when he splattered beefy globs of mashed potatoes on his plate. He picked up his knife and fork, but faltered when he saw the corpulent slew of food in front of him. Draco swallowed and cringed inwardly when he thought of how he would have to starve himself in the days to come to make up for the staggering load of calories consumed tonight.

"Too used to escargots and crème brulees, Malfoy?" Ginny wondered out loud, her insidious insinuation drizzling from her lips in a superior drawl and challenge twinkling in her arctic blue eyes.

Draco's head snapped up to face Ginny, who was seated directly across the table in front of him. He could feel Harry's hand on his thigh, pressing gently in a way to restrain him. Draco's spine stiffened and he squared his shoulders combatively, his eyes a swathe of crystal grey. He arranged his features skillfully into a serene, silky smile and didn't bother to respond to the redhead. Instead, Draco simply took a bite of mashed potato.

"Harry always raves about your cooking, Mrs Weasley, and it truly is as good as he describes it," Draco praised, causing delight to bloom on the witch's face.

"That's nice to hear. Then do eat more," Molly said fondly, leaning over and ladling a splash of pumpkin soup to Draco's bowl. The blond blinked and tenaciously continued to shovel food in his mouth. He didn't give a toss about his weight anymore, if this was what it meant for him to show his dedication and wholeheartedness about Harry, he would choke down every damn morsel of food on his plate. Hell, he would even lick every droplet of sauce off (although that really wouldn't be very dignified).

On top of that, Mrs Weasley's cooking really _was_ superb.

* * *

"Yes, I know he's a Malfoy, Arthur, but I don't see any issue! Just look at the poor boy, he's lost his parents after the War! Don't you think he deserves a nice man like Harry to take care of him? Harry's happy with him, and I do think Harry is old enough to think for himself!" Molly Weasley said firmly, reaching for a dishcloth and wiping a plate dry.

"He _has_ turned out to be a pleasant young man, and Harry does have the right to date anyone that he wants, but the fact remains is that he was Lucius' Malfoy's son, and to a certain extent-" Arthur fell silent when Draco cleared his throat respectfully behind them. The tips of Arthur Weasley's ears went red and Molly shot a reprimanding look at her husband before turning towards the blond, her plump cheeks shifting upwards as she beamed warmly.

"Thank you for the lovely dinner and for inviting me into your home," Draco started formally, his arms held steadfastly behind his back.

"You're welcome, I'm glad that you enjoyed it," Molly replied, pleased.

"It would be rather rude of me to come without some tokens to show my gratitude, so…" With that, Draco brought his hands forth and fished out from a bag a small box with a dark blue ribbon tied neatly right at the top. He handed it over to a shocked Arthur, who hesitated.

"This isn't necessary, Draco, this isn't necessary at all," Arthur protested, placing his hands up. Draco only pushed the gift marginally towards him, and Arthur had no choice but to accept it. Under Draco's watchful eye, Arthur undid the bow and opened the box, expecting it to be some Muggle phone device, things which his children were so fond of giving him until he had a whole room devoted to it. He would be happy enough sitting in his room the whole day tinkering around with the machinery and the wonder of it all.

But this was a completely different present altogether.

"Great Scott, Draco, is this… is this what I think it is?" Arthur breathed with undisguised stupefaction as he extracted the present carefully out from its package and lifted it up to the light reverently.

Oh no, this was not some state-of-the-art Muggle phone that could send out messages from any corner of the world and could take photos with startling clarity, this was something from a different league altogether, something more simple, something more straightforward, but so much more _cute_…

It was a rubber duck.

"I asked Harry what were the earliest memories he had of you, and he mentioned that you asked him what the function of a rubber duck was, so I thought you might like it," Draco explained confidently, but grains of worry _what if he doesn't like it at all_- still niggled at him. He rocked himself up and down the balls of his feet, his fingers winding themselves tighter around the handles of his bag.

"Does it quack? Does it really quack? And it floats on water, doesn't it?" Arthur asked dreamily and squeezed the duck experimentally.

The yellow toy quacked dutifully.

"You could take a bath with it. That's what it's primarily used for, anyway," Draco pointed out, much to Arthur's disbelief.

"I can _bathe_ with it?! What does it do in the tub? Can it scratch those hard-to-reach places at my back? Those absolutely _splendid _Muggles…" Arthur suggested excitedly, squeezing the duck once again and practically flying on cloud nine when it squeaked joyously once again.

"No, it can't do that, I'm afraid. But it… er… squirts water when you squeeze it in the bath. And I reckon it… doesn't get that lonely in the bath when the duck's with you," Draco guessed hopefully. But Arthur's mind was scampering off to a World Full Of Rubber Ducks, his imagination running wild.

"I've already got a decent Muggle phone collection, how about a rubber duck one?! I could get rubber ducks with sunglasses! Different colors and designs of rubber ducks! Rubber ducks themed with holidays of the year! Christmas rubber ducks, perhaps? I've once seen a picture of a rubber duck in a pink tutu, oh that was an utterly mind-blowing work of art! Molly, it's going to be wonderful, I-"

Sadly, Arthur's overbearing enthusiasm was curbed by just a single Death Glare from his wife.

"But Molly dear, listen to it! It's practically a _symphony_!" Arthur said eagerly, and proceeded to quack the duck right into Molly's ear, making her jump.

The portly witch sighed and threw her hands up in the air.

"I'll let you keep rubber ducks, but only if you clean up that room with your Muggle phones and put your duck congregation in that same room! There's not enough space in the house for all of your Muggle whims, Arthur!"

"But my Muggle phone collection!" Arthur demurred, but ended up nodding meekly when Molly shot him another one of her practically patented glares again.

"And this is for you. You could keep it for special occasions," Draco recommended, pulling out a bottle of wine which had two stalks of fresh roses twined artfully around the neck of the bottle, and presented it to Molly. Initially he had wanted to get something more practical, something that could help Molly around the household, but he wasn't sure how Molly would take it, since Draco reckoned that Molly might not want to be reminded of chores all the time. He couldn't get roses, because he was afraid that Arthur might arrive at the wrong conclusion, so he decided to play safe and opt for wine instead.

"Why, Draco, this must have been terribly expensive. Thank you very much, dear," Molly said, noticing the elegant calligraphy font on the label and the frosted glass of the bottle. Draco only waved a hand in the air dismissively, shrugging the cost off.

"And… Mr Weasley? I know that our families have had bad blood before, especially the altercations that my father had with you, but I would like to clarify with you that I'm… serious about Harry, and that I would really like to put the past behind us. Is that… possible?" Draco asked tentatively, gingerly lifting his right hand. Arthur noted at the candidness of the blond's expression, smiled genuinely and shook Draco's hand heartily.

"Of course, Draco. Many years have passed."

"Take a seat outside, dessert will be out shortly," Molly said, gently ushering the ex-Slytherin to the sitting room.

* * *

"I like stars," Hugo announced suddenly with a mouthful of homemade fudge, reaching up and prodding the silver star-shaped earring on Draco's left earlobe. The young boy had spent most of his energy running up and down the house with the rest of the kids, and finally worn-out, he sat quietly on Hermione's lap. Hugo's eyes widened in amazement as the five points on Draco's earring squirmed and wriggled under Hugo's touch.

"Cool! It's a magical earring! Mum and Uncle Charlie's got them too, but yours is really nice, Mister Malfoy!" Hugo squealed volubly. He scrambled out of his mother's lap and perched on the arm of Draco's chair, his chubby legs dangling from its edge. He began to poke with abandon at Draco's earring with his pudgy finger.

"Hugo!" Hermione barked.

"No, it's fine. Do you want to go out and look at the stars? My family's named after the constellations, so I do know a fair bit about them," Draco offered, popping a forkful of fudge in his mouth and giving the rest to Harry. He had been way too full to eat a complete serving of dessert, so he had no choice but to share his slice with Harry.

"That sounds great! I can revise for my astronomy test," Rose piped up.

Draco shot a quick, querying look at Hermione and Ron, who both nodded. With Rose and Hugo trotting alongside the blond, the trio exited the house and out into the porch.

"Sometimes it's good to stop thinking so much about schoolwork for a while," Draco said, addressing Rose. The ex-Slytherin thought about Harry and couldn't help but smile.

"I know, but I still have my grades to maintain and everything. But well… there's this… boy in my class…" Rose stated, going rather pink in the face after her confession.

"Ah, a boy. Let me guess, a rather smart one, probably top of the class, and I reckon one of the most good-looking out of the lot, is it?" Draco asked, an eyebrow raised airily and his lips curving up into a sincere smile.

"How'd you know?!"

"Been there, done that," Draco quipped.

"He's really hot, with the bluest eyes that I've ever seen and his smile, Merlin, when you see his smile, it's like… it's like he can fix every problem in the universe armed with just that smile," Rose gushed dreamily. "But I haven't told Mum and Dad about it. It's so predictable, Mum will ask me to concentrate on my studies, while Dad will probably map out some top secret attack strategy for me to… _seduce_ Brian one way or another. Only you and Uncle Harry know," Rose finished, winking confidentially at Draco. The blond laughed and promised that he would keep Rose's secret for her.

Well, that was until Hugo stopped in his contented burbling and stared incredulously at his sister.

"Rosie, you've got a _boyfriend_?" Hugo asked, his eyes round with astonishment.

"Oh_ bollocks_," Rose huffed anxiously, trying to perform some semblance of damage control. "Listen, Hugo, he's not a boyfriend, he's just someone in school that's rather… nice, okay?"

"Rosie's got a boyfriend! And she said a bad word!" Hugo chanted in a sing-song tune, much to Rose's chagrin. She pounced on her brother and began to tickle him at his sides until a roaring Hugo fell over in bouts of uncontrollable laughter.

An amused Draco tipped his head to one side and let the two children play for a while, before propping the both of them right back up on the steps again and indicating towards the jeweled night sky.

"See that group of stars over there? Well… it's a constellation named…"

Meanwhile, back at the sitting room, a confounded Weasley household, with the exception of Harry, Ron and Hermione, ogled at the spectacle of ex-Slytherin, ex-Death Eater and pureblood Draco Malfoy spending time with a pair of "blood traitor" Weasley kids and actually _enjoying_ himself.

"You know what, Harry dear," Molly said, breaking the stunned silence. She smiled supportively at the brunette before continuing her sentence.

"I think he'll fit in _just_ fine."

* * *

"Come to bed," Harry murmured, kicking the sheets back with his feet and turning his sultry bedroom eyes on Draco. "And don't bother putting those on," the brunette said, jerking his chin towards the blond's clean clothes. Draco licked his lips, quickly toweled his hair dry and crawled on all fours towards Harry on the bed.

"You've been a good boy tonight, haven't you?" Harry whispered, tracing a lone finger from Draco's naked shoulder to his hip. He slid his hand teasingly into the side of the blond's underwear, hooking the hem smartly around his finger and nudging it down.

"No, not yet," Draco breathed, clutching Harry's hand with his own. "What reward do I get for behaving myself?"

"We spent five hours there. One fuck for each hour," Harry said, pushing Draco on his side and pressing the ex-Slytherin's back against his front. Draco's grasp on Harry's wrist loosened when Harry pressed his erection against Draco's lower back. Draco moaned and arched his back towards Harry's body, his long fingers wrapping around the waistband of Harry's boxers.

"Although I should take off a few fucks for the teasing you did, shouldn't I?" Harry purred playfully, moving down and increasing the speed of his grinding just by that little bit that he knew would leave the other man gasping for more.

"I… didn't tease you, I really didn't," Draco bit out, his words accented by small moans and gulps as he thrust his hips further back and jutted his arse out, mesmerized by the sensuous, rocking motions of Harry's cock.

"Oh, really? Then why did you bend over so many times in those jeans and shoot me those privately filthy looks? You don't know how many times I felt like slamming you up and over on the dinner table and fucking that pretty little arse of yours. You made me think of all those things right in front of everyone, you made me get a hard-on, don't you deserve to be spanked, hmmm?" Harry hissed, his hot breath dancing on Draco's neck.

"No, not now…"

"You wanna get fucked first? Yeah, let's do that. Or I could spank you while I'm fucking you, yeah, that'll work," Harry suggested, his lips curved up in a feral grin and his voice as tempting as rustling of bedsheets.

"No, Harry, don't distract me! I've got something to tell you," Draco said, turning his body around and yanking his underwear up properly. Harry drew back and blinked curiously, inspecting the somber expression on Draco's face with growing concern.

"What happened? Did Ginny say something to you? Did she?! Or was it someone else? Draco, tell me, or I'll swear I'll go back there and- Draco? Draco, what's wrong?!" Harry squawked, now fully alarmed by the discomfort and seriousness written all over Draco's features. The blond's grey eyes were skittering down to his hands and up to Harry's face in fits of nervousness, and his throat was bobbing up and down as though he wanted to say something but it refused to come out-

"Harry, I- um… I _luh_-uh… I…" Draco's stammers were a stark contrast to his usual eloquence and articulation, and Harry tilted his head in confusion, his nose scrunching up with question.

"Are we playing some game? Charades, perhaps? Am I supposed to guess what you're saying? Well, if you want to play you could have told me beforehand! Wait, let me get some clothes on," Harry said, but before he could hop out of bed, Draco exhaled heavily.

"No, you _dimwit_!" Draco shrieked, clamping a hand on the brunette's elbow and roughly tugging Harry back to him. "I just wanted to say that-" With that, Draco pointed a finger to himself_ i_-, joined the two index fingers of both his hands together and drew the shape of a heart _love_- in the air, before pointing the same finger to Harry's _you_- chest. A flood of abashed red invaded Draco's face, and the embarrassed blond immediately turned his back to Harry, curled himself up into a little ball and burrowed under the blankets in sheer mortification.

A stunned Harry sat there for a few seconds, before a smile like a burst of fireworks exploded on his face. His heart lifted dangerously and he felt his insides wriggle with affection.

"Really?! I mean, you really do-"

"Of _course_ I do, for Merlin's sake!" Draco bawled, throwing the covers back and regarding Harry with a thunderous expression, but the effect turned out to be highly comical as remnants of his blush were still mottled on his cheeks. "Do I go around saying those three bloody words to everyone on the _sodding_ streets, Potter?! I had to say it someday, didn't I? You say it every other bloody day to me, as though I'll forget it! Well, if you don't believe me, I'll take it back, thank you very much!"

"No, but that didn't really count as _saying_, did it? Say it, Draco. I'll show you how to say it," Harry badgered, a gooey smile splattered on his lips, his hands clasped tenderly around Draco's wrists and he began to enunciate the words very slowly and carefully. "I love you, Harry. I love you very much, Harry Potter. I love youuuuuuuuuuu, Harry baby!

An incensed Draco grabbed a pillow and bopped a laughing Harry over the head with it.

"Stop demanding so much from me, you git!" Draco hollered agitatedly and let out a small humph, his arms folded across his chest. The brunette shuffled towards the blond and hugged him tightly. He started to dust butterfly kisses all over Draco's shoulders, collarbones and neck.

"I love you too, Draco Malfoy. I love you so much. I want to hear you say the same thing to me too, in that sweet, shy voice of yours, but I'll wait, alright, I'll be patient and wait for the day when you're ready," Harry said softly, smiling happily against Draco's heated cheeks. Draco lowered his forehead onto Harry's shoulder, his hands curling possessively on Harry's waist and trying to hide his silly grin from Harry.

"And you can tell Roxanne to give up hope because there's no way in hell I'm returning this breathing, life-sized Barbie doll of mine because he's absolutely perfect in every single way. He's gorgeous, sexy, witty, charming, capable, and he's got the most _fuckable_ arse that I've ever laid eyes on," Harry murmured cheekily. Draco pouted and smacked the top of Harry's arm crossly. Harry's grin widened even further as he leant in, cradled Draco's face in his hands protectively and kissed his smile tenderly.

* * *

**/tbc**

Next chapter is going to be the last one! :O


	15. Handle With Care

**Flirt by xErised**

**Handle With Care **

* * *

There had been something gravely wrong with Harry as of late.

Draco Malfoy surveyed his lover of eighteen months over the rims of the newspaper with intense grey eyes that narrowed when Harry accidentally knocked over a half-empty cup of tea. The brunette cursed sharply under his breath and began to blot the mess up with a handful of paper towels. Harry caught Draco staring, and the blond quickly snapped his attention back to the paper, but the cogs of his mind were preoccupied with anything but today's news.

It had started out as nothing much at first; Harry knocking off from work one to two hours later for the past three months. Draco thought that they were having a busy season due to the spate of unexplained murders, but when the blond asked Harry about it, the other man said that the Aurors were in charge of that case, not the Unspeakables. When Draco continued to quiz him further, Harry went all shifty-eyed and told him that there was a new batch of fresh Unspeakables that needed rigorous training that he and Ron were in charge of.

Harry had been stammering like a fool when he said that, and even an idiot would know that he had been lying.

That was when the first warning flag came up.

So a stubborn Draco had left his office for a while and stealthily parked himself outside the Ministry building. Ron ended work right on the dot at five thirty pm, but Harry was nowhere to be seen. Draco continued with his sleuthing for the whole week, and the outcome had been the same for every evening. With his heart sinking silently like a boulder, Draco had refused to let himself get upset and filed the information away in his mind neatly, choosing not to mention the issue to Harry until it was absolutely necessary.

Then came the phone call.

Harry had been hunched furtively over his table at home when Draco had just stepped out of his Floo. Harry's bank-books were sprawled on the table, and Draco had hovered in the background, wondering who was on the other line. Harry had suddenly let out a laugh and nodded, murmuring that it was an extremely important present for 'his special someone'. So a privately thrilled Draco had waited eagerly for some sort of lavish goodie from Harry. He had even gone so far as to stand in front of the mirror practicing the astonished expression that he would craft when Harry presented the gift to him.

Needless to say, there was no present that Harry joyously whisked out of thin air.

It was the little things that added up, things such as the rebuking looks that Hermione tossed at Harry when they were at their place for dinner. Hermione would widen her eyes meaningfully at Draco and frown impatiently at Harry, leaving a very confused Draco in the wake of her cryptic actions. Even Ron seemed to be on tenterhooks when he was in close proximity with Draco; the blond could see that the redhead was holding something back. There were newspaper clippings that Harry failed to successfully hide around his house; snippets about houses and loans and whatnot. Draco suspected that Harry was planning to move house, and had been slightly hurt that the brunette didn't bother to consult him.

And then there was this… fixation with Draco's fingers. Harry would take every opportunity to squeeze, stare and stroke Draco's fingers, which the blond thought was highly irregular. Perhaps Harry didn't find his fingers sexy anymore? Draco sighed sadly, placed the paper down on his lap, spread his fingers apart and lifted them up to the light. Nothing had changed; his nails were still clipped short and maintained in its impeccable state of cleanliness.

Hang on, Draco thought with escalating alarm _oh sweet Salazar, are my fingers shrinking? Is Harry not interested in me anymore because of my shriveled up fingers?_- as he squinted and brought his face closer to his hands. Draco ransacked his brain to find for any correlation between the length of his fingers and their relationship. Immediately, Draco squeaked _maybe it affects the quality of my… handjobs?_- and clamped a hand over his mouth. The ex-Slytherin scowled darkly and ruthlessly banished his paranoia. There was no way that Harry would break up with him over sexual matters like that. But apprehension, a debilitating ache that haunted Draco for answers, still remained.

At that moment, Harry grabbed the cordless phone and dialed a number. He wandered to his room distractedly and huddled in a corner, his fingers clicking his nails anxiously as he waited impatiently for a response. Curiosity gnawing his way through his insides and his instincts standing up on red alert, Draco folded the paper up, placed it away and crept towards the room, his ears pricked for the eventual threads of conversation.

"Hermione? Yes… no, I haven't done it yet… maybe… maybe not today, he appears to be rather tired, yes I know, there's hardly any reason to shout, Hermione… but I'm afraid that he might not be… happy with it. Another day, another place might be better, when he's in a better mood. I know, I've been thinking about it for a long time, but what if it backfires… Hermione, I'm so _tired _of it all, I just want it to _end_-"

Harry's voice was a low and taciturn murmur, secrecy weaving in between his whispered words, and Draco turned strongly on his heel, his heart doing a slow, excruciating nose-dive down to his shoes. It was as though the once-warm blood circulating through his system was suddenly replaced with a vat of icy cold water. The tangle of fear and disbelief was growing with each passing second, and Draco bit down hard on his knuckle, trying to look for an alternative explanation.

But the blind panic _Harry's leaving me, he's leaving me, he's leaving me, he's leaving me_- closing its ominous tentacles over him was preventing him from doing so.

"Draco? Are you okay? You look really pale," Harry said worriedly, his brows furrowing together as he replaced the phone back on its set. Draco instantly took up his pose of nonchalance, crossing his arms and ankles defensively, his lips turned downwards in an expression of displeasure and his eyes impaling Harry with a chilly glare.

Draco marveled at how there was no scrap of guilt on Harry's face.

"Harry, do you love me like how you used to?" The blond asked tartly, despising the tell-tale tremor in his voice and how much he was hinging on Harry's reply _Draco, stop being silly, I've never stopped loving you_-.

"Draco, things have changed-" Harry answered, and it seemed as though he was about to continue, but Draco cut him off abruptly, his words stilted by the snag in his throat that refused to shrink.

"Do you want me to move out?" Draco croaked out finally, the undertones of his voice blooming with underlying accusation. Draco's fist was grabbing onto the doorknob of Harry's bedroom with a rigor mortis grip. There was this funny feeling of fury, pain and bewilderment stewing within the blond.

"Of course you've got to! Isn't it a given, after I- Draco, Draco, what's wrong? Draco, come out!" Harry yelled, pounding urgently on the door when the blond darted into the bedroom and slammed the door firmly behind him.

Draco flung open the cupboards in the bedroom in fits of anger and yanked out whatever clothes that belonged to him, his snarls fueled by a deadly cocktail of disappointment and misery. The grand total amounted to three pairs of underwear, one pair of jeans and a handful of shirts. The ex-Slytherin smirked humorlessly and bunched them all up into a messy little pile.

This was all he had in Harry's house in the whole one year and six months of dating.

Oh wait.

There was also a toothbrush in the bathroom that belonged to Draco.

A toothbrush.

How fucking pathetic.

Throes of rage stormed and churned in his blood, and he pummeled the bed violently with a curled up fist. Yes, it would hurt like fuck now, but he would get over it, wouldn't he? Yes, he would have to get used to quiet nights and packet dinners oozing with oil and fat, but it didn't matter, did it? Since Harry was so emphatic on Draco "moving out" (which was total rubbish, because when did Draco officially move in anyway?), Draco would leave with his head held high and he would never deign to darken his doorstep again.

It sounded dreadfully easy, didn't it?

Funny how it felt like someone had shoved a stake mercilessly through Draco's heart.

But Draco didn't understand what the problem was. Had Draco done something that had wiped away all of Harry's affections for Draco in just a single motion? Or had there been a tiny, inconsequential issue that had snowballed into a protuberant eyesore? Draco swiftly cycled through his lists of habits (none bad, mind you). Yes, Draco was still rather protective of his conglomeration of Ben & Jerry's ice-cream, but honestly, why would Harry be bothered by it?

_"Harry? Harry, what're you doing in the bathroom-"_

_"Um, nothing, nothing at all!"_

_"… Is that my Ben and Jerry's ice-cream? Why are you sneaking it in here and eating it, don't deny it, and DON'T YOU DARE HIDE THAT SPOON!"_

_"But I was really hungry, and you were sleeping! I wanted to wait for you to wake up so we could go for dinner together… so I thought… this could tide me over for a while… Draco baby, please don't be mad-"_

_"You sneaked behind my back and ate my ice-cream! You know what it means, no sex for- nnrgh! Don't think that just by kissing me you'll- … you taste like strawberry cheesecake… mmmgh… Harry…"_

Well, that had ended up in a shag on the bathroom floor and Harry doing extremely, extremely naughty things to Draco with a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice-cream slathered all over their bits, but that wasn't the crux of the issue now.

Okay, maybe Draco should give Harry a bit of leeway when it came to sharing ice-cream.

But it was practically impossible that the brunette would end it all just because of a dessert treat! Dissatisfied, the ex-Slytherin racked his brains further, determined to arrive to a suitable conclusion as to why Harry wanted a break-up. His deduction was suddenly interrupted by an especially loud batter on the door.

"Draco, come out, please, if not I'm breaking through!"

"Leave me alone!" Draco screeched back, tucking himself up into a tight little ball on the bed.

"Tell me what I did wrong, I don't understand what's going on-"

"At least have the guts to tell me to my face that you want a break-up! Don't go around and bitch about it to all of your friends and not do anything about it! You coward!" Draco howled furiously, hating the tremulous quality of his wavering voice.

"What? I never said anything about a break-up! I don't want one, where the hell did you get that idea from? Come out and we'll talk it over properly, Draco, stop acting like a child-"

"Get lost! And I am not a child!" Draco shouted back childishly. Instead of placating him, Harry's words only served to infuriate him _because you want to break up with me, you don't want me anymore_- even more, and Draco mulishly remained ensconced in the room. The ex-Slytherin snatched up a pillow and hurled it viciously at the door, his heart hammering and thudding madly under his chest. When he got no response from the other side, the blond huffed and buried himself under the sheets.

Draco didn't know why, but this particular incident that had transpired roughly three months ago all of a sudden barged itself rudely into his memory…

* * *

"It sounded really important on the phone, Harry. What's the matter?" Hermione asked with concern. Beside Hermione, Ron blinked and tipped his head to one side, equally puzzled as his wife. The trio was seated around the brunette's dining table at his home.

"It's about Draco. Look, he's coming over any moment, so you've got to pretend that this conversation never happened if he appears, alright? And you can't tell him what I'm going to tell you," Harry said covertly, leading both his friends to raise their eyebrows.

"Looks like it might take long. I'll make some tea," Hermione suggested, and Harry nodded, his mind preoccupied with rearranging his thoughts.

"Harry? Um… this doesn't look like a teabag to me."

An amazed Hermione gingerly lifted up a half-empty tube of lubricant, with its cap clumsily flipped closed.

"Oh, _shit_, sorry!" Harry squawked, instantly rushing over and grabbing the lube from Hermione. He dumped it back in its respective drawer, but not before Hermione had taken a peek at its contents. The witch smirked as a blushing Harry quickly produced three teabags from another drawer.

"A whole_ drawerful _of lube in the _kitchen_, Harry? Looks like the both of you have no problems at all with your sex life," Hermione teased, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"I don't know why, but Draco gets really turned on when he sees me cook. He gets a hard-on and everything, and he practically demands a hard fuck right here, right now-" Harry all but gushed, and Ron could see the aroused look forming on Harry's features.

"Okay, stop there, mate."

"I've got to learn how to lube up in seconds-"

"Mate-"

"'cause when he wants it he wants it _now_, you know-"

"Harry-"

"That dirty, demanding little _sexpot_-"

"HARRY!"

But Ron knew that he had already lost Harry, judging by the sheen of sex glazed over leering green eyes. Hermione waved a hand in Harry's field of vision and failed to evoke any sort of reaction from the brunette.

"Come on. Give him around… five minutes. He'll get over it," Ron sighed, patting the seat beside him. Harry's libido was already scuttling off to last night where Harry had gotten the best kitchen sex ever…

* * *

A half-naked Harry never failed to get Draco all hot and bothered.

A half-naked Harry working his magic on the kitchen stove, however, made Draco downright _hard._

Maybe it was because of the fact that outside, Harry was part of the crusade whose job was to sentence those big bad villains to justice, the very embodiment of masculinity, virility and brawn, but behind closed doors, the brunette pampered, spoilt and took care of Draco like he was some prized gem, up to the point of preparing _cook like an angel and fuck like a devil_- most of their meals. Draco basked in the control, the authority that only he possessed to pare Harry down to a quivering and whimpering mess _please let me come, Draco, need to, Draco baby_- in the bedroom just by a single, playful shake of the head.

Draco couldn't help but inwardly let out an evil little cackle at that thought.

The blond's breathing got a bit heavier, a bit labored when Harry exhaled hotly, lifted up an arm and wiped the sweat off the side of his face with a toned bicep. An uncertain frown was poised on his lips as Harry stirred the simmering curry in faltering circles, the fingers of his other hand trailing beneath Mrs Weasley's recipe. Meanwhile, Draco leaned himself at the side of the entrance of the kitchen and nibbled kittenishly on the edge of his fingernail, his eyes half-lidded with lust as he continued to shamelessly check the unsuspecting brunette out. The ex-Gryffindor was like a charge of coffee; addictive, overwhelming, stimulating and able to keep the blond up all night. Darkened grey eyes lingered on the slopes of Harry's chest, and Draco swallowed, suddenly feeling the need to lick every naughty, sexy inch of Harry, especially that mouth-watering cock of his-

"Didn't hear you come in," Harry said, shooting Draco a quick look before turning back to his curry. He ladled up some curry, dipped a finger in briefly and tasted it. Not seeming to be pleased with the end result, Harry gathered up a smidgeon of herbs and sprinkled it in the pot, all the while stirring frantically. Draco licked his lips and he sauntered foxily towards the other man. He wrapped his right arm around Harry's chest and squeezed fiercely, while his other hand began to snake its way down his own shirt, undoing each button steadily. The blond swept black curls away from the nape of Harry's neck and nuzzled Harry there, all the way down to his shoulder.

"Missed you too, you know," Harry said, chuckling. The past two weeks had been a flurry of work for both men; Draco had to wade through sheaves of paperwork and numerous site visits for the acquisition of a hotel, while Harry had been busy with the training program for a particularly difficult team of new recruits. As a result, their time together had been reduced drastically, and it was only now that they could take a breather and enjoy a leisurely meal and a long, luxurious session in the bedroom later.

But Draco didn't want to wait a second longer.

"I'm not hungry for that right now," Draco murmured in a smooth, glib tone, his jaws opening hungrily and biting the shell of Harry's ear lightly. He withdrew his hand and slipped it out through the arm of his shirt, shedding his top completely. His hands started to knead Harry's shoulders, rubbing it at all the right places. Draco dipped his head and slowly kissed his way down Harry's spine, decorating the brunette's flesh with small licks and pecks.

"What? You don't like curry? Shit, I should have asked you before making it," Harry sighed sadly, looking at the poor curry with mounting dismay.

Yes, Harry was dead sexy and all, but honestly, he could be so _dense _at times.

"I'm fine with having curry for dinner, but… right now, my mind's on other matters," Draco purred coquettishly. Just in case Harry didn't grasp the sexual innuendo, the blond smiled silkily, brought his hips forward and nudged his erection towards Harry. Draco pressed his front to Harry's back, reveling in the wicked rush of flesh against flesh.

"How long before that's done?" Draco asked softly, his chin jerking towards the curry and his hand snaking down to Harry's abdomen. Draco toyed with the waistband of Harry's jeans, the mere tips of his fingers feathering circles on Harry's hips and the tops of his thighs.

"F-Fifteen minutes, Draco, wait, I'll do you properly after dinner in bed, I… _mmrgh_-" Harry moaned wordlessly. With hooded eyes, Harry edged a glance at the other man, and it was then that he knew he was playing a losing game.

Draco wanted sex, and he wanted it _now_.

Draco's eyes were seductive, smoky and glinting with desire, that vampy, gifted tongue of his held between his teeth. Without tearing his gaze from Draco, Harry tilted his head backwards and rested the back of his head on the blond's shoulder. Harry's hand sneaked behind and grabbed Draco's arse, pushing his body closer to his. Draco smiled wolfishly and rotated his hips slowly, grinding himself against Harry, all the while murmuring silvery, thoroughly filthy words that were like an aphrodisiac to Harry's ears.

"I wanna undress you. I wanna caress you. I wanna get down on my knees, Harry, I wanna get down on my knees and suck you off. I know how much it turns you on when you see your come dripping down my lips and my throat. I know how much it turns you on when you watch me play with myself. I've been playing with myself alone in bed for the past few nights. It's been so lonely without you around. Won't you fuck me tonight, Harry, pretty, pretty _please_?"

"Fuck yeah," Harry hissed fervently, those pornographic images frisking through his mind and his excitement levels ramping up when he felt Draco unzip his jeans, his fingers curling around his cock and stroking it through his underwear, just the way Draco knew he liked it. His movements were excruciatingly slow, purely meant to torment Harry, meant to make Harry ache for more. Draco traced a snake of kisses from Harry's jaw-line all the way down to his shoulder, and Harry could feel Draco's smile on his skin, pleased at how Harry's body was behaving.

Harry mewled with need when the blond withdrew his hand. As though Draco had twitched an invisible leash, the hypnotized brunette wetted his lips and obediently followed Draco as he inched towards the counter. Draco slipped a thigh between Harry's legs and forced them open. He leant over, pressing his body on Harry's torso a bit harder than was necessary, yanked open a drawer and drew out a tube of lube. Draco twirled it mischievously between his fingers and slotted the very edge of the tube down Harry's underwear. The brunette raised an eyebrow, fished it out, flipped the cap open, squirted a liberal amount of lubricant and rubbed it between his fingers.

"Not now. Let me taste you first, won't you?" Draco whispered longingly as he knelt down right in front of Harry, his eyes still drilling that sexually compelling look into hazy green eyes. Harry's grip tightened on the border of the counter when Draco unbuckled his belt with a clink and stretched the belt out to maximum length. With that, the blond grinned dangerously, looped it around Harry's bare thighs and snapped it shut, restricting the movement of Harry's legs.

"If the belt drops or strains too much when your cock's in my mouth, I won't let you come," Draco stated, his palms ghosting along Harry's inner thighs.

"You gonna let me fuck you two times in a row if I do what you want me to,_ fuck_, Draco," Harry groaned, his eyes immediately homing in on Draco's naked erection when the blond dropped his pants and underwear. With one hand on his own cock and the other wrapped around Harry's, Draco greedily fondled himself while he toyed with the underside of Harry's cock, his hot, wet tongue swirling sinfully just right at the tip-

The belt strained slightly as Harry parted his legs further, his sweltering gaze still centered on Draco's cock as the blond picked up the pace and stroked himself faster.

His eyes dancing like a rascal's, Draco took more of Harry in his mouth and licked him feverishly before retreating.

"I'll let you do whatever you want with me, but only if you win this round," the ex-Slytherin tempted coyly, before shutting his eyes and diving in between Harry's legs again.

Needless to say, they had burnt curry for dinner that night.

* * *

Draco blinked and looked quizzically at the three friends clustered around Harry's dining table, wondering why Ron and Hermione were encroaching in on his precious time with Harry. They were talking in low, suspicious whispers that slightly piqued Draco's interest. The blond let out his breath in an indignant huff and tried to suppress the impatience rising rapidly within him.

Harry's eyes flitted towards the entrance of the kitchen briskly and then swiveled back to his two friends. His gaze doubled back when he suddenly saw Draco looking curiously at the trio. Harry quickly hushed Ron and Hermione, stood up and ushered them out of the kitchen. Draco arched an eyebrow questioningly when he saw Harry's cagey demeanor. Ron's eyes lingered on Draco a bit longer than was comfortable, causing Draco to turn his head directly towards the redhead and shoot him an imperious, forceful look. On top of all that, the bottom half of Hermione's face was split into a wide grin and her goodbye was trilled in a cheery tone that was a little bit too bright for Draco's liking.

"What were you discussing? All of you looked so serious," Draco enquired, waving Ron and Hermione off as the couple Flooed home.

"Oh, it's nothing… important," Harry fibbed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and immediately changed the topic with ease and skill.

Of course, Draco hadn't thought much about it at that time, shrugging it off as though it had been nothing significant.

Until now.

* * *

That memory was like another needle pricking his fragile little heart, and Draco pressed the heels of his palms against his scrunched-up eyes, his heart and mind jumping _the three of them conspiring together, playing with me like I'm some sort of toy_- at shadows.

Slow, suffocating despair _I thought we were fine, I thought we were perfectly fine, was it just one-sided, what's going on_- closed its fangs around Draco, his bitterness filled the room like the most noxious smoke and he tore at his hair, trying to keep a cool head and to still the myriad of emotions bombarding through him.

Draco frowned darkly. He still hadn't deducted what was wrong in their relationship, and he was not happy_ it either means that there's nothing wrong, or the problem is so huge that I can't figure it out at all_- about that _or Harry's keeping something from me_-

-_cheat_.

Draco lifted his head up from his hands and stared unseeingly in the middle distance.

Well, no surprise there, wasn't it? After all, Draco had had first-hand experience in being witness to Harry cheating on him. Utterly frazzled now, Draco got up and began to pace the room, vines of jealousy creeping up on him. Okay, so what if there was someone else intruding in their relationship? He wondered how the other man was like. Would he still be a blond, or a new flavor, a redhead, a brunette, just like Harry? Did he like sex as much as Harry? Was Draco going to go right out and beat Harry to a pulp, or beat the third party up to a pulp?

Or better yet, beat _both_ of them up?

His nerves were gradually rousing themselves up into a verge of mass hysteria, and Draco's eyes suddenly fell on the clump of his clothes that lay sadly on Harry's bed.

The blond looked at it for a long moment.

This wasn't just a pile of clothes.

It meant something much more, something so much more that no tatty interloper, no shoddy, two-bit, little trespasser would ever be privy to. Draco calmly walked back to the heap of apparel on the bed and pulled out a simple black shirt. Draco had worn it when he had (verbally) murmured the first_ iloveyou _to Harry.

Harry's smile after that particular announcement had been so brilliant, so beautiful that Draco had kept that memory locked in a box in his heart.

And that midnight-blue shirt that Harry loved so much _you're gorgeous, utterly, drop-dead gorgeous_- on Draco, and that dark-green underwear that Draco had brought to Paris had been the first set of briefs that Harry had peeled off from Draco's hips.

Yes, it wasn't as impressive as live-in lovers, not as inspiring as having Draco's paraphernalia and bric-a-brac littered all over Harry's place, but it represented a series of firsts, how Draco had slowly and selectively dropped his barricades and let Harry have free rein in his heart, in his mind, in his body.

The past eighteen months had been nothing to scoff at.

His chin jutting with resolve and his grey eyes hardening, Draco meticulously bundled up the clothes and hung them back in Harry's closet, replacing them back in their original position, as if the whole thing had never happened. There would be no admission of defeat, and Draco wouldn't be the one who would slink away with his tail between his legs.

He demanded an explanation for Harry's bizarre behavior for the past three months, and he wanted it now.

The brunette had been hovering tersely outside the door like a distraught mother. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to say _maybe I should just drop this and think about it some other time, maybe it's a sign that it's too early for that_- to comfort Draco. Harry's already shaky composure was wearing down with every passing second, and his heart was like a frenetically pounding drum. Who knew what Draco was doing in the room, who knew what his (sometimes adorably) paranoid boyfriend was thinking of right now-

Draco, with his head full of steam, flung the door open and took a furious step towards Harry, an angry scowl on his features and a full plethora of vituperation gathering momentum behind his tongue, ready to be unleashed the minute he set eyes on Harry-

Harry's head whirled towards an emerging Draco, and he gave the object in his cupped palm one last yearning glimpse _yes, I want it, I want it so bad_-, and then, and then, _and then_-

Harry Potter got down on one knee.

Draco halted in his tracks completely, the scene playing out in front of him throwing him in a complete loop and his breath_ let's not assume now, Draco. Maybe he's tripped, maybe he's begging for forgiveness_- helplessly catching in his throat.

Funny how he seemed to have forgotten what he wanted to yell at Harry just seconds before.

Harry's mouth was as dry as flour, his throat as scratchy as bark. He licked his lips and swallowed quickly. He relaxed his constricted grip on the item in his hand and flipped it open. Draco muffled his gasp oh _sweet Salazar, he's holding a jewelry box, he's holding a jewelry box, on one knee, in front of me, does this mean what I think it means? What if it's a completely different thing altogether, wait, hang on, hang on, pinch yourself, hurry, maybe it's some glorious dream_- by biting down hard on a knuckle, the first raw echo of shock and left-over anger substituted by a glimmering thread of disbelief, propelled by waves of hopeful elation.

Harry held Draco's flustered gaze in thrall, his emerald eyes radiating this certain, electric conviction that made Draco's heart tingle and beat in double quick time. Harry cleared his throat quietly and started to speak, his words hiccupping and tripping over each other initially, but bit by bit, they began to smoothen out and increase in volume and confidence.

"I might not be your dream prince, I might not dress the way you want me to, I might not behave the way you want me to, but all I know is that I want to make you smile when you're sad. I'll let you have whatever you want, I'll promise you that I'll never leave you. I'll miss you, I'll kiss you, I'll need you, I'll feed you. You deserve the world, but I don't have enough money to give you that. I'll break myself into two for you, I'll give you everything that I've got, I'll give you all the important things that money can't buy.

"I know nothing about your job, but I'll be there if you want to rant. I'll sing for you, and I wouldn't be good, but maybe, just maybe, good enough for you. I'll eat with you, and I might not look very nice doing that sometimes, but maybe you wouldn't mind. I'll look after Squiggles just like how I look after you, simply because I know how important he is to you. I'll take every single part of you, all of your insecurities and idiosyncrasies and still love you all the same. It doesn't matter if you're tired after work and don't feel like talking, I'll just enjoy being with you, just holding your weary body in my arms.

"When I'm not with you, it's like a sentence without spaces. It's like a heart that doesn't beat. It's like a dancer with no rhythm. When I'm not with you, Draco, it's something that doesn't make sense."

Every word touched chords in Draco's heart, and his knees suddenly felt boneless. Frittering, resounding shock slowly filled his mind heartbeat by heartbeat. His palm was clamped over his mouth, and there was this odd sensation stirring at the back of his eyes. Shudders of affection and love reverberated through Draco's system, and he suddenly felt a bout of woozy vertigo crash and ripple through his limbs.

My goodness, if Draco fainted during a marriage proposal, Narcissa would turn in her grave.

The blond took a wavering step back and plopped down on the edge of the bed, his nerveless fingers clasping the sheets.

Both men looked expectantly at each other for a short moment.

Harry shifted a bit on his kneeling position.

Draco blinked curiously at him in response.

"Harry? You… didn't ask me properly," Draco pointed out, much to Harry's consternation. The brunette's mouth opened and closed uselessly as gabbled, idiotic mumbles sprinted silently in his head. Oh, _crap_, was there some sort of Malfoy regulation that Harry had to uphold when he was proposing to Draco? Was there a minimum of carats that had to be on the ring?

Draco tilted his head questioningly when he saw the medley of emotions, ranging from confusion, to self-loathing and despair flitting through Harry's face.

"You didn't say it. I can't tell you yes or no if you don't ask me," Draco hinted, a soppy smile lurking on his lips. It was rather charming (extremely silly, yes, but still charming nevertheless) how Harry had managed to forget the most essential part of his little speech.

_Oh!_

"Will you marry me, Draco Malfoy?" Harry corrected himself quickly as embarrassing realization dawned on him. The brunette's face was flushed a mortified red at that little hitch in his plans. Blood was thrumming and pounding in Draco's veins, his nerves were captivated in a permanent state of excitement and jubilance.

This was it, this was the culmination of eighteen months of passion, devotion and desire.

_forever is half a moment away_-

"Yes," Draco choked out, his throat clogged with tears and his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "Yes," he whispered again, this time accompanied by a vigorous nodding of his head.

His heart turning over like a freshly-tossed pancake, an exhilarated Harry straightened up in a flash, rushed towards the other man and held him close, kissing him luxuriously, lazily, lovingly with well-practiced finesse. Draco let out a giddy little laugh that quivered between their lips-

_and I love it that whenever we kiss I can feel you smiling_-

"Sorry about that just now. I haven't proposed to anyone before," Harry said, abashed.

"It better be your first and your last," Draco chided gently, then pecked Harry sweetly on the lips once before surrendering his hand to the ex-Gryffindor, a broad, thrilled and uncontrollable smile leaking from the sides of Draco's mouth. He was like a young child, his ankles crossed and his legs swinging up and down from the frame of the bed. Little spots of scarlet flamed in Harry's cheeks as he drew out the ring and slipped it on Draco's finger.

Draco stared at it for a long moment, and Harry waited with bated breath for Draco's approval. An unwanted, chilly thought _what if he doesn't like it at all, oh God, please, please_- speared across Harry's happiness.

And then, to Harry's utter stupefaction _oh Merlin, it can't be that bad_-, Draco's face crumpled up and the blond began to cry.

It was a world apart from Draco's dream ring. He had always wanted different kinds of gems on his engagement ring, a stunning, exorbitant and ostentatious orb of polished ruby, sapphire, emerald, diamond and topaz poised on a silvery wedding band.

In other words, he wanted a ring that would cost an arm and a leg to buy.

"Draco, I'll work harder and I'll save up more and I'll get you a better ring, but please, please stop crying, Draco-"

But Draco realized that he didn't want a rainbow ring with all the gems surrounding it like an impenetrable fortress anymore. He didn't want a showy, in-your-face ring that would attract attention from anyone and everyone on the streets. He didn't want a ring that would make Harry put in more hours at work instead of spending time with him.

The ring that Harry had presented to him was classic, elegant and timeless. It was made up of a round-cut, understated diamond in the centre, flanked at the sides by two smaller alabaster diamonds. It flashed iridescent sparks when Draco turned it in the light, and Draco felt himself trembling with romance.

_this is the way that I say I'm yours_-

"I love it, Harry, I love the ring, I love you, Harry, Harry," Draco sniffed and swiped at his eyes roughly, wanting to reassure the brunette. He cannoned into Harry's arms, buried his head in the crook of his neck and embarked on a fresh round of tears. Harry let out a relieved sigh and patted the crown of Draco's head, shushing the blond's whimpers.

"I've never seen you cry before, Draco," Harry murmured comfortingly, planting a kiss on Draco's forehead.

"That's 'cause Malfoys don't look good when they're crying," a melting Draco mumbled, willing his tear glands to _bloody_ behave themselves. Teardrops glimmered at the fringe of his lashes, and the ex-Slytherin's vision was blurring with more unshed tears. Harry smiled and sponged off Draco's tears with his thumbs. He reached up and kissed Draco's closed eyes so tenderly, so fondly that Draco felt a renewed stint of tears forming-

"Nonsense. You look beautiful all the time," Harry praised, pulling Draco closer and hugging him _because I'm not letting go of you, never ever_- tightly. The blond sniffled to a stop and reciprocated Harry's hug, feeding him back with possession and vehemence.

Draco didn't know how it was possible to love someone so fiercely, so strongly that he might just _disintegrate into a thousand million little pieces on the floor-_

"So all of the weird things that you did… it was because… because you wanted to marry me? And that day… when you were talking to Ron and Hermione…" Draco asked, feeling a little, fluttering frisson shiver through him at the mention of marriage.

"I had to work extra hours to afford the jewelry, and I had to settle my vault at Gringotts for money matters. You know how close the three of us are, when Ron and Hermione were planning to get married, I was one of the first few people that they told, so it's natural that they know that I'm planning to propose to you. Besides, I was afraid that I might be rushing things too fast, and that I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you rejected me. I didn't know where or how to go about doing it. I even got to thinking whether I should just book a whole restaurant for the both of us, or renting an extravagant cruise liner and doing it there, but well… it might be a bit difficult, wouldn't it?" Harry explained, self-conscious when the issue of Galleons came up.

"No, I don't want any of that… this is… perfect," Draco said, still smiling like an absolute loony. "But just now… you said all those things to me…"

"Of course I don't love you just like how I did last time, because I love you so much more, baby," Harry explained succinctly. He tackled a giggling Draco to the bed and snogged him energetically for a long while, until the blond broke off the kiss and continued his rapid fire of questions.

"And you said something about moving out, and how you were… tired of it all. I don't understand…"

"We'll buy a house together, not now, but soon. I'm shopping around for a suitable one right now. It can't be too big or too pricey-"

"Harry, I really don't mind paying for it-"

"No, let me handle it, it's important to me. Look, let's do it like this, I'll pay for it, and you'll work on the décor and furniture and everything else. You know I'm absolutely horrid at design and things like that," Harry suggested, and Draco nodded, satisfied.

"And um… regarding the end it all thing, it's nothing that you need to worry about, seriously," Harry hedged, fidgeting. In reply, the blond crossed his arms and trained a stern stare on the other man.

Harry folded.

"Whenever I pick you up from work, I see those men loitering around you, and yes, I know they're there purely for business only, but I know that they're checking you out! I hate it, I absolutely _loathe_ it when they're practically undressing you with their eyes! That's why I thought… I thought that if you had a ring on your finger they would just… _piss off_," Harry huffed, perturbed. He gauged Draco's reaction to this revelation, hoping that Draco wouldn't get mad _what if he thinks that I'm marrying him solely because of this_-.

Instead, Draco only smiled serenely and murmured a 'Silly Harry' under his breath.

"Hang on, you said jewelry just now. Jewelry, as in plural?" Draco pointed out, delight mounting within him yet again. Harry only grinned secretively, led Draco to the full-length mirror, pulled out another velvet box from his back pocket and opened it.

"Harry, I've got a lot of dragon earrings already," Draco said when he saw the single, coal-black earring nestled in its lair of a box.

"This is different," Harry promised impishly. He took the accessory out and tried to hook it on Draco's earlobe by himself, but ended up poking the blond's earlobe unceremoniously. After a few unsuccessful tries, Harry finally slipped it in. Draco tipped his head to his right and studied the dragon, waiting to see what was so unique about it. It was small enough to be unobtrusive, yet large enough to be noticeable.

True enough, the dragon ignited into life after a few seconds, its wings flapping dramatically as though it had woken up from a term of profound hibernation. Its eyes flashed a bright, sparkling white, before diminishing into a deep crystal grey. Its eyes closed in a show of pleasure and its tail dangled slackly in a state of relaxation from the curve of Draco's earlobe. The tiny dragon wrapped its wings around its body calmly, and its eyes slit open just a fraction, revealing a mildly shocked glitter.

"That's not all," Harry said coyly. He coiled his arms around Draco's waist and bit down on Draco's neck. To Draco's sheer astonishment, the dragon jerked itself up from its peaceful slumber and opened its jaws in a silent roar. Its eyes were no longer grey, but a sparkling, dominating green.

"Two people can bind to the dragon; the one who wears it, and the one who touches the person wearing it for the first time. Touch triggers the dragon and it picks up on their feelings," Harry whispered, his hands held possessively on Draco's hips and his tongue dragging lazily down to the dome of Draco's shoulder.

"It must have been expensive. Did you get it from the Elliot twins?" Draco asked, fingering the tail of the dragon, which lurched from side to side like a pendulum. Harry replied in the affirmative and threw Draco on the bed, his fingers rapidly working on the buttons of Draco's shirt.

"I wanna make love to you while you're wearing nothing but that ring and earring of mine," Harry hissed, the hungry baritone quality in Harry's voice turning Draco on to no end.

"What happens to the dragon when we're having sex?" Draco asked, getting rather breathless with answering lust and love when Harry peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside, feeling that zingy, spiraling smolder of sex bristling between his legs. Harry made his way down Draco's body, a devilish grin on his lips. He latched his teeth on the zipper of Draco's jeans and pulled it down bit by bit, his gaze hot and suggestive.

"Let's try it out then, won't we?"

* * *

EPILOGUE 

"Draco sweetie, it's time to get up. You've got a meeting soon," Harry jolted softly in hushed tones one Saturday morning. He was bent over on the edge of the bed, gently shaking his husband of eight years. It was strange for Draco to oversleep, especially for work-related matters.

"Go 'way. No meeting now," Draco mumbled half-heartedly, lifting his head up slightly from the pillow and plonking back down again. He cracked open a bleary eye and immediately shut it when the morning light assaulted him rudely. With that done, the blond rolled himself listlessly away towards Harry's side of the bed. He burrowed his face into Harry's pillow and inhaled the brunette's scent, a sleepy, satisfied luster of a smile on his lips. Squiggles, his (old) beloved dragon, now patched up by numerous Muggle stitches (courtesy of Mrs Weasley) and Weaving charms, was squashed unceremoniously under his arm, and it wasn't long before Draco dropped back to slumber again.

Harry's eyebrows climbed his forehead slightly and he retreated from the room and padded towards _well, it means breakfast for two instead of one then_- the kitchen. He bustled about his work area and began to whip up a fresh batch of pancakes. The kitchen had grown to be Harry's exclusive domain, after Draco had out of the blue, tried to surprise Harry with a home-cooked meal and inadvertently set the stove on fire.

The horrified blond had tried to save it with magic, but it only served to exacerbate the problem.

Needless to say, the stove needed a major overhaul, and from that traumatizing incident onwards, Draco gave the poor kitchen a wide berth and left the cooking entirely up to Harry, but took care of the washing-up and drying (with magic, of course).

Harry paused in his mixing of pancake batter and glanced quickly at the calendar studded on the kitchen wall. He flipped the calendar to the next month, noting the sheer number of social engagements that the both of them were committed to. On Harry's side, there was Ron and Hermione's anniversary party and Rose's Hogwarts Graduation ceremony. On Draco's side, there were his usual prerequisite dinner parties where shoulder-rubbing with the rich and the famous were mandatory.

It hadn't been easy for Harry to ingratiate himself into Draco's circle of business associates, even after their wedding. To help ease Harry in slowly, Pansy had taken it upon herself to prepare a thick, bulky dossier of all the important names, professions and various recent newspaper clippings that Harry had to know by heart for small talk.

_"Pansy, have you gone mad? I can't remember all of this-"_

_"While the both of you were dating, Potter, it was alright of you to make yourself absent during Draco's events, but now that you're getting married, you have to know what's going on! Chances are that you'll have to tag along with Draco, and it will appear to be very rude if you fail to make an appearance."_

_"But there's all the wedding preparations to do-"_

_"Potter. Don't argue with me. Read."_

_"… Thanks-"_

_"Don't thank me, start memorizing and get your facts right. Go on now, run along, darling."_

But it appeared to have worked. Draco's friends that had originally scoffed at Harry had come to accept him, acknowledging the fact that Potter wasn't going to go anywhere, especially with that wedding ring on Draco's finger. And step by step, the invitation cards addressed to Draco no longer read 'Draco and other'.

It now read 'Draco and Harry'.

Harry was there when wealth and power sometimes swelled Draco's head; the brunette was like an anchor that helped bring Draco down to earth, reminding him that there were more important things in life than money, especially when Draco seemed to be tiring himself out occasionally, sometimes missing from home for two to three weeks because of site visits to other countries. At times like this, a completely drained Draco would return home to see Harry sleeping on the couch in front of the fireplace, his nose buried in Squiggles' fur and cuddling the little dragon to sleep.

_"Sorry, I got delayed. You shouldn't have stayed up for me. What do you do when I'm away?"_

Harry would smile a sleepy, happy _he's back, he's finally back_- little smile and kiss Draco's wrist lovingly, his answer chasing away Draco's weariness and warming the blond all over.

_"I wait for you to come back."_

And then Draco would lead Harry to bed, the brunette would hug him from behind and bundle him up in his arms, and they would sleep together in a warm, cocooned ball.

Their honeymoon had been simple, just the two of them lost in their little paradise of a world. They had rented an isolated little cottage where they were surrounded by sun and surf, and of course, sex during morning, afternoon and night, sex for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Well, you get the picture.

And there were those funny little habits, those one-a-kind quirks that made Draco _Draco_.

Draco was a natural wriggler in his sleep, especially for the first few weeks that they had lived together. Many a time had occurred when Harry had jarred from sleep, freezing cold due to the blond hogging all the blankets, or Harry had ended up on the floor, simply because Draco had performed a well-aimed kick at Harry's bum. Sometimes Squiggles would fall out from Draco's arms, and the ex-Slytherin would make this distressed whimpering sound that woke a grouchy Harry up from his sleep. And then Harry would have no choice but to haul himself out of bed, stomp his way over to Draco's side, pick up the dragon and tuck it in Draco's arms. Draco would let out a tiny sigh and snuggle deeper into the pillows, content at last when his toy was back with him again.

The most astounding thing was that Draco was really, truly asleep throughout.

And the toothpaste, oh _God_, the toothpaste issue. Harry had never had a tendency to cap the toothpaste lid properly simply because he didn't see the point in it. However, Draco was a meticulous toothpaste-cap-shutter, because it was a routine that had been instilled into him since young.

So of course, sparks flew when Draco accidentally pressed on the tube of toothpaste and ribbons of toothpaste squirted out messily onto the sink.

_"S'okay, Draco. It happens. I'll clean it up later."_

_"But I don't understand how! I always cap it neatly-"_

_"Oh, it's me. I don't bother to do that. Just leave it alone... why are you staring at me like that?"_

_"Sweet Salazar, you're just like Crabbe! He never puts the lid on properly, and there's toothpaste always leaking all over in the Slytherin boys' bathrooms and at one time, there was toothpaste on the mirror! On the mirror, could you believe it! Merlin, I get so agitated just thinking about it, and you, you, Potter, you're one of those inconsiderate toothpaste users!"_

_"… It's just toothpaste, Draco."_

_"No, it's not just toothpaste! It's one of those little things that show how neat and precise you are as a human being! It's polite to cap it properly to make things easier for the next person who is about to use the same tube of toothpaste-"_

_"Okay, I'll go out and buy another tube of toothpaste. You can open and close the lid on that one to your hearts' content, and I'll keep my sloppy and disorganized tube of toothpaste to myself. How does that sound?"_

_"… Just cap the damn thing properly next time, Potter!"_

Those trivial matters began to accumulate, and gradually, Harry learnt to turn down the television volume when Draco was in his study working and when Ron and company were over to watch the game. When Harry's friends seemed to be getting a bit too rowdy, Harry would quickly tone things down for Draco's convenience. Harry learnt to drop Draco a quick owl right after a dangerous Unspeakable mission-

_"You didn't owl me that you were safe after that particular case this afternoon, Harry."_

_"Oh, I was out with the boys at the pub celebrating. We succeeded, Draco-"_

_"You didn't owl me."_

_"Well, I'm fine now, can't you see-"_

_"Yes, I know you're fine now, but I didn't know whether you were alive or dead one hour ago! I didn't know if your body was lying in some fucking ditch halfway around the world, I was waiting for you to tell me that you were okay the minute you came back, not three hours after you finished! I was so fucking worried, I was pacing the fucking office, scared out of my wits, can't you remember last month, last month when you were sent to St. Mungo's again after that curse hit you, Harry, can't you be a bit more attentive to things like this!"_

On Draco's part, the blond had to get used to Harry's eating habits, which could be rather ghastly sometimes, courtesy of sharing meals with Ron in the Great Hall in Hogwarts. It was revolting, how Harry could eat with his steak drowning in ketchup, how Harry could never eat a chicken wing properly without getting oil all over his face. Draco would quickly grab a tissue and shove it towards Harry, who would clean his mouth and flash Draco that crooked, cheeky little grin of his.

_"Oops."_

And then Draco would fall in love with him all over again.

The blond had to tolerate Harry's wandering eye. There had been this misunderstanding in their fourth year of marriage, an abominable monstrosity of a feud between the both of them when Draco had stumbled upon Harry in bed with another man.

Granted, their clothes were still on, and they weren't doing anything but sleeping, but it enraged Draco to towering heights to see someone else lying on his side on the bed that only he shared with Harry. Things had already been a bit rocky, with Draco clocking in more and more hours at work, while conversely, Harry had a lot of free time on his hands since things were getting a bit quiet at the Ministry. Harry proclaimed his genuine innocence, of course, because he really, truly didn't touch Jeremy-

_"We went out drinking, the bunch of us, and Jeremy asked if he could crash over at my place, I forgot what reason he gave, but I know I asked him to sleep at the couch, not in bed with me-"_

_"He's Jeremy, isn't it? The one that fancies you like mad? And you invited him home, I can't believe I'm hearing this from you, I can't believe that you expect me to believe this load of shit from you. How was he? Was he a good fuck? I bet he took my place quite easily, didn't he? Blond, just like me-"_

_"Fuck, we didn't do anything at all! We were on opposite sides of the bed, yes, I was a bit drunk, but I know that we didn't do anything at all! And you, Draco, you've been leaving me alone for the past few days. I hardly see you at home anymore, I miss you, Draco, don't you dare walk away from me-"_

_"I'm staying at Pansy's-"_

_"The fuck you are-"_

And thus ensued a cold war which lasted for two long, horrible weeks, until an emotionally wrung-out Draco with weary rings of shadow below his eyes had returned home to Harry, his scrupulously polished wedding ring still wrapped protectively around his finger.

_because when you stop talking, you stop caring-_

"Morning. Thought I smelt something nice."

Harry laughed and leant back into Draco's embrace, kissing the blond full on the lips. He busied himself with dribbling a generous drizzle of maple syrup on a stack of freshly-made pancakes, and Draco smacked his lips hungrily. The ex-Slytherin helped out by pouring out orange juice into their glasses and carting it over to the dining table. Not forgetting the star of the show, Draco was practically drooling at the mouth as he stuck his head in the fridge and triumphantly produced a half-empty pint of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Macadamia.

"The meeting was cancelled today?" Harry asked as he popped open the ice-cream lid and shoveled the best bits onto Draco's plate.

"No, I got Bobby to take over last night. The both of us have been so busy with work recently, so I thought it would be nice to just spend the whole day with you here, alone," Draco said, smiling beatifically at Harry. Touched, Harry bent down and kissed Draco so thoroughly and intensively that the ice-cream began to melt.

They finished their breakfast at a leisurely pace, and at the end of it all, Harry brought Draco and the remaining chocolate ice-cream back up to their bedroom. The brunette tugged Draco towards him, and the blond snuggled in Harry's cuddling embrace, his eyes still glued onto the business section in _The Daily Prophet_. His front facing Draco's back, Harry spooned some ice-cream into Draco's mouth, careful not to drip any on the sheets (Draco would go completely ballistic if he did).

The outline of Draco's body had gone a bit soft _happiness fat, they call it_-, especially around his abdomen, due to the fantastic dinners at the Weasleys' and mouth-watering meals at home. Harry still loved Draco's scent, which always brought a lift to his spirits. Silhouettes of experience lined Harry's tanned face, and his hair had a dusting of silver at the sides, but his voice still remained the same, that low, soft voice that was practically created to murmur sweet nothings in Draco's ear every night.

Harry cleared his throat and grinned friskily as he sneaked a sly hand under Draco's arse and squeezed it hard, making the blond squeal.

Well, _some_ things never change.

"So, what are we doing today?" Draco enquired, flicking his newspaper shut just a bit.

"Talk about nothing in particular, make love, more talking and more sex, hmmm, more ice-cream and more sex… guess that's about it. How does that sound?"

"Sounds perfect," Draco agreed, beaming. "Just let me finish this article."

Many of us don't believe in love because of an assortment of reasons. Maybe you've had your heart trampled on before. Maybe you just haven't met that special someone yet. Maybe you don't relish the idea of _happily ever after_.

Or maybe, just maybe, we have the impression that it's something so far away, something so high up in the alpine heavens, so heroically deep into the labyrinth of an ether, waiting for us to stumble upon it at the other side of the world.

But the heavens aren't so far away after all.

Love is that sparkle in his eye, love is that smattering of smiles that he shows you even when he's tired. Love is the little things that he does that makes your heart stop just for that split second. Love is the turning of the key in the door, that little tell-tale whoosh of the Floo when he's finally returned home after a long, hard day of work. Love is when he draws down the curtains every single morning when you're still sleeping because he doesn't want the sun to get in your eyes. There's no other feeling like it in the world, no feeling like this that cossets you, cares for you-

Love is on the other side of the bed with you, brushing his teeth with you, eating together with you, arguing with you, frustrating and laughing and disappointing and pleasing and kissing and touching and smiling at you **allatthesametime-**

Love can be the sweetest bliss you feel whenever you two kiss each other all over, but yet, love is the heartache you feel, this painful, grinding screech at the core of your chest whenever the both of you have a fight.

The first time a 27-year-old Harry Potter had laid eyes on Draco Malfoy, right at that Ministry function in that ballroom, his heart had skipped a beat.

It did it then, and it's still doing it now.

It didn't matter that the Draco that Harry had seen was preened, polished and perfect in every other aspect, while the Draco that was in Harry's arms right now had mussed-up, uncombed bedroom hair that bore a suspicious resemblance to Harry's own tangled locks, the Draco that Harry was holding now wasn't wearing expensive designer suits, but instead, just a simple white shirt with a picture of Snoopy on it and a pair of black shorts with tiny yellow Woodstocks embellished on it (yes, they came in a set). The blond's lips were smeared with sticky, gooey stains of chocolate ice-cream, a far cry from Draco's speckless lips eight years ago at the ballroom.

Because after eight years, all that was important, all that was meaningful was what was in your _heart_.

* * *

**/fin**

Thanks for all those who read (and recc'ed) _Flirt_, regardless of whether you're a dedicated lurker or a consistent reviewer. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. (:

So this is it, a textbook happy ending immaculately wrapped up in sparkly gift paper with a pretty little bow at the top. Sadly, my next fic won't be as lucky.

_Pandora's Box _will be published on 28th May, Friday.


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